The Sharpest Lives
by Evil Mockingbird
Summary: When the only hope for Magical Britain is in huge danger, what's a goddess to do? Send Nico di Angelo out to help him, of course! But when The GT friendship start to fall apart, Nico's past comes back to haunt him, and every one of his problems develop a voice, Harry starts to crack. LOTS of non-canon references, Ron, Hermione & Dumbles bashing, HBP, OOC. Insanity, Dark themes.
1. Intro

**Harry Potter and The Ghost King**

**So, this is an idea I've been harbouring for a while, and I want to see how it works out. I'll tell you how I came by it, and if you want to skip straight to the need-to-know, skip the next paragraph. K.**

**If you've read or seen the movie for The Half-Blood Prince, you'll know that young Voldemort looks a lot like our favourite emo, Nico di Angelo. You know, pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes, handsome (because we all know Nico is hot) et cetera. Also, Nico is a child of Hades, and so is slightly 'dark', if you get my meaning, so the GT would probably think him to be like Voldie's son, right? So I played on that as well as the title (you know, Nico's a half-blood, but also the Ghost King, and a prince is like a king so it works). **

**NEED TO KNOW FACTS ABOUT THE STORY:**

**Nico is two years younger in this then in canon, and Annabeth is a year younger then in canon.**

**This story takes place in 2014, making Percy 21, Annabeth 20, Jason 20, Piper 19 etc.**

**The pairing is all canon in both series, but I've put Nico with that daughter of Aphrodite Lacy.**

**Lacy is OOC in this, and looks different to fit parts of the plot.**

**Nico is also OOC in that I've made him more Last Olympian-esque (meaning he's sarcastic, witty and for some reason slightly cynical. Don't know why but it came out that way).**

**There is **_**mild**_** Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione bashing. But it is very mild. More just poking fun at them. Nothing major.**

**This disregards chapter XXXVI of HoH. Percy and Nico have a brotherly relationship. No more, no less.**

**This is set in the Half-Blood Prince and after/kind of in the Giant War.**

**I have added a war of my own creation into this that is kind of a by-product of the GW**

**This war is gruesome and contains scenes of torture (main reason for the M rating).**

**An awful lot of stuff has happened in the 4 years between what will happen in BoO and this story. Including the following:**

**A new camp called Camp Unity is built between the two pre-existing ones.**

**It has a city called the New Empire.**

**Camp Half-blood has a new city built much like New Rome called New Athens.**

**All of the characters have called a favour of Hecate to give them believable cover stories for when they're in the Mortal world. Only the demigods and their parents have these memories **_**and**_** the original ones. This makes any lies they happen to spin believable.**

**These memories contain dark themes such as drug and alcohol use, mentioned rape and murder (another reason for the M rating).**

**Percy and Annabeth are married with a three year old boy called Theseus and there are quadruplets on the way (no, I don't know why I did this, I just did. Please just go along with it.)**

**Piper and Jason are married. They have had one child that died, but Piper's about to have another.**

**Frank and Hazel are engaged.**

**Leo and Calypso are engaged.**

**In a bout of insanity, Octavian is nice and for some unknown reason dating Reyna. I found it fitting for some reason that even I have no idea about.**

**Nico, Percy, Jason and Frank went to the 2012 Olympics in London, and each won at least one event. **

**Nico holds the world record for the 100m and 200m sprint and is the youngest male Olympic gold medallist ever (if he did actually go to the Olympics, this would be true as his birthday is the 28th of January). He also went to the 2012 IAAF and took gold in both of the afore mentioned events.**

**Percy won gold in the 200m IM, 400m IM, 200m butterfly, 400m freestyle and several relays, holds world records for the 400m IM and 200m butterfly and won silver in several other races, breaking the world record of number of medals won in a single Olympics.**

**Jason won the men's high jump and came second in the triple jump. **

**Frank won gold in the hammer throw and shot-put**

**Piper and Lacy are supermodels for companies such as Abercrombie &amp; Fitch.**

**Hazel is CEO of a majorly successful mining company.**

**Annabeth is the most successful and famous architect of her time.**

**Calypso is a professional chef.**

**Reyna is a member of the American government.**

**Leo runs a company that provides new technology called 'Delta'. It wiped companies such as Apple, Samsung and Microsoft off the map and has practically monopolized the industry.**

**That's all from me,**

**DD**

**P.S. I do not own PJO, HoO or HP. If I did, I'd be as rich as Hades, not in high school writing fan fiction.**

Nico sighed as he sat down on a bench in a graveyard - he couldn't tell exactly where he was. He had been half-asleep when he shadow-travelled (which, in hindsight, probably wasn't a good idea) so he wasn't sure whether he was in Topeka or Cincinnati - easy mistake to make. Ideally, he be in Topeka as it was closer to home, but it wasn't like he had any way of finding out where he was. Or how long he'd been out.

Shit.

Lacy was going to kill him.

And then, if by some miracle he survived that, Percy would kill him.

Then Hazel would resurrect his soul and kill him again.

But not before Annabeth tortured him.

Oh gods ... They'd get _Jason_ to come.

NO!

He couldn't allow Jason to humiliate him while he was dead!

Back on track.

Just as he was wondering what his epitaph would be, he caught a godly flash of light in his peripheral vision. Luckily he had enough control over his reactions to not look at it - that would have been disastrous. He just hoped it wasn't his dad. That would have been even worse.

But no. It was a lady with long golden hair and dark brown eyes.

_Hecate_, goddess of magic. Oh, and the patron of those whiny wizards. How on earth could he forget?

Okay, so not _all_ of them were that whiny, but a hell of a lot of them were! And evil. Definitely evil. Seriously, who dedicated to their time to create curses such as the Cruciatus? Not that his dad had minded. Hell, he'd loved that curse! And using it on him and Hazel. That couldn't be forgotten.

Yeah. He'd had a falling out with his dad, to put it mildly.

Then again, the wizards did have some pretty neat things.

Like the moving photographs (Nico himself had one of he and his family, as well as one of him and Lacy) and Occlumency and Ligilimency (which Nico and the rest of the Camps were Masters of).

Back to the point.

Turns out, Hecate had a somehow managed to make herself think that sending him on a quest to protect some Potter boy from a raving lunatic that should have died years ago and was almost as evil as his dad was a good idea. The worst part? It was in Britain.

Oh Joy.

It wasn't like he _hated_ Britain, per say. In fact, he'd been to London for the 2012 Olympics and found it quite nice. No, it was that, after Hecate had given them false, Mist-made memories, his father had been a British wizard by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Nico wasn't even sure if he was real, given that his two middle names (yes, he had two. It was something the di Angelo family had liked, so now every di Angelo had two middle names, Nico included) were remarkably similar to his (Thomas and Marvolo).

No, he didn't hate Britain. But, if Tom Marvolo Riddle _was_ a real person, then there was going to be a problem, 'cause he had no doubt he was evil. 

With Harry

Harry's nightmares were as bad as ever, if not worse. Recently, it wasn't Cedric's death that haunted him so much as Sirius's, but there was one aspect of his nightmares that remained as scarring as ever.

The boy.

The boy that had helped him escape the graveyard, and by extension Voldemort.

The boy that, if Voldemort's fury was any indication, was most likely dead because of it.

The boy that referred to Voldemort as 'Father'.

Once again, Harry woke with a start. As always, his memory of whatever his nightmare had been about this time was fuzzy, but the accusing light in the dark eyes of the boy seemed to be branded into the back of his eyelids.

Why hadn't Dumbledore done anything about it?

Harry knew the boy was on their side. He had done nothing but help Harry after Voldemort's rebirth - even tried to prevent it - and Harry had left him to face the brunt of Voldemort's fury.

And, as far as he was aware, Dumbledore hadn't even tried to help him.

Then again, perhaps he had.

Perhaps the boy was dead.

Perhaps he was just another person who had died because of Harry.

**Alright, me again. I **_**know**_** you didn't read that A/N at the start. The first paragraph isn't a must-read, but the list entitled NEED TO KNOW FACT ABOUT THE STORY needs to be read, as you may or may not have guessed by its title.**


	2. The Dudley Fiasco

**Chapter 2 - The Dudley Fiasco**

Even two weeks later, Nico wasn't sure what had possessed the goddess to send him, of all people, on a quest. It wasn't that he was surprised he was on a quest, he'd been on lots of them already. No, it was that this quest involved making _friends_. Nico didn't do _friends_. Sure, he'd made some friends - the Stoll brothers, for example (the three took mutual enjoyment in pranking Jason) - but he didn't want to make any more.

Also, he had to take a _plane_ to England! A _plane_! A godsdamn fucking _plane_. Zeus may be on better terms with him after his falling-out with his father and consequent reintroduction to regular society, but that didn't mean he _liked_ Nico, and, as such, he couldn't go on a plane.

At least he hadn't been alone, at least for the start.

You see, when Hecate had announced to the Camp that Nico was going on a quest to England, she said he needed to have a 'vaguely responsible chaperone'. Jason had volunteered, and Hecate had agreed.

Now, it wasn't that Nico didn't like Jason or anything, but Jason wasn't exactly his definition of a 'vaguely responsible chaperone'.

Of course, Percy had stood up and said that Nico couldn't do the quest if Jason managed to poison him with his atrocious cooking - which Nico had agreed wholeheartedly with - and so now Percy was there too. Actually, Percy's exact words were, 'I'm not leaving my little brother in the care of Jason, of all people, for two months. I don't want him coming back to America three days after leaving in a body bag 'cause Jason managed to poison him with his gods awful cooking'.

Needless to say, Jason had been highly affronted, but Nico had been rather thankful. He wasn't sure if he could survive more then a week alone with Jason.

Percy was making dinner, because it took two and a half hours to cook, and they always ate at six. Megadeth's _She-Wolf_ was playing from the kitchen, something that both Percy and Nico had outvoted Jason on.

As a result, Jason was now outside trying to make the garden nice.

So far, he'd done a pretty good job; thanks to a blessing from Demeter they'd all gotten (she had become far more friendly with him since his falling out with his father, and Persephone had kept in contact with him - after all, apart form Hazel, no-one else had been there to help him while he was still stuck with his father. Well, Lacy had, for a while, but that's a different story.)

They all decided to model it on Calypso's island, which Percy had remembered surprisingly well, considering it was him.

There had been several trees in the garden, but they didn't look as though they had bore fruit in a while. But now, there were cherry blossom trees bursting with little pink flowers, and apple trees filled with bright red, juicy goodness. Clumps of lavender and juniper sprung up around perfectly placed stones and filled the air with a beautiful smell that, when mixed with the smell of baking cookies, reminded Nico of home. There were bowers of flowing jasmine that surrounded a small fountain that was home to several naiads (it was much deeper then it looked, and led to an underground cavern, which Nico was _sure_ Hephaestus had had something to do with).

Towards the back, near the house, there was a small row of herbs, like parsnip and mint. Vines crept up the side of the house towards the flower pots filled with bluebells on the windowsill.

Moonlace sprung up in patches all around the garden, glowing with a faint, hope-inducing light.

It was larger then the rest of Privet Drive's front gardens, as the house was set slightly further back (this of course meant that their back garden was slightly smaller, but it didn't matter).

A narrow, winding gravel path cut through the garden, slicing it perfectly in half. The white picket fence that bordered the garden also bordered the path, with gates to lead to each half.

The creativeness of the garden was contradicted sharply by the plain interior of the house. They had tried to make it personal by putting up lots of pictures - they were moving ones, but they used the Mist so they would look stationary to any Mortals. There was one of the entire family - not extended family, of course, but Jason, Piper, Percy, Annabeth, Theo, Leo, Calypso, Hazel, Frank, Reyna, Octavian, Lacy and Nico - all smiling and waving at the camera, having the time of their lives. One had a grumpy, dripping wet Jason after Nico and the Stolls dumped him in the lake while Percy had conveniently looked in the opposite direction. Another had baby Theo, Percy and Annabeth shortly after Theo was born. Again, they all looked ecstatic. Percy had told Nico on multiple occasions that it was the happiest day of his life, on par with his wedding day and the day he and Annabeth had finally started dating.

An old grandfather clock stood ticking away the seconds at the end of the hall, near the old oak stairs, leading to the top floor. Nico's room was pretty plain - one black wall, the rest white. A double bed, two bedside tables. An electric guitar sat on a stand just to the left of the window, and to the right of an amp. One plain wardrobe was almost invisible - it was one of those renovated closets. The room wasn't overly neat, nor especially dirty. The only exceptions were a CD player, its neighbouring huge stack of CDs from bands like Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth, Iron Maiden etc and the picture on his bedside table. It was a copy of the one downstairs in the hallway of his family. They were pristine.

Let it never be said that Nico didn't appreciate good music, or his family.

While the house could be worse - it could be his father's place - Nico couldn't stand much longer in it. Grabbing his skateboard and a leather jacket, he walked out of Number Eight Privet Drive, calling that he'd be back before midnight, although what he'd be doing for the next eight hours eluded him.

Jason told him to have fun and to 'try not to die' and that it would be 'sucktastic if [he] did'.

Percy told him that he'd try and save him some dinner, but to not be disappointed if Jason managed to scoff it like the pig he is.

Jason threw a cushion at Percy.

Percy threw a steak knife at Jason.

That effectively ended the discussion.

Nico rolled his eyes and walked out the door.

How considerate his family was.

After just looking around the neighbourhood for a while (it was full of cookie-cutter houses with non-descript cars and simple paint jobs. The only difference was the gardens, which they seemed to compete over, although, in Nico's opinion, Number Four had the nicest, apart from theirs. That wasn't surprising, though, as he had seen a black-haired teenager slaving away in it for a few hours earlier. The rest of the members of the house looked like two whales and a horse who had never done manual labour in their lives) and buying himself a coffee - Cafe Nero was no Starbucks, but it was nearly as good, if way more expensive (not that he actually had to worry about that. He signed an autograph and the barista conveniently forgot he hadn't paid) - Nico found Mongolia Crescent Park.

It was, like the rest of the neighbourhood, annoyingly plain. Several adults narrowed their eyes and lead their children away from him when he entered. Nico rolled his eyes yet again. Honestly, he wasn't that odd. He was wearing simple black jeans, a black leather jacket and a Led Zeppelin shirt with Doc Martins and a skateboard. Evidently he was the Devil incarnate intent on corrupting their children and turning them into murdering thieves who were going to Hell when they died prematurely from alcohol and drug overdose with no money to pay for their funerals because they blew it all on parties and prostitutes. Dang that was one long sentence.

Back on track.

He supposed the bandages along his forearms could worry them, but, with one having been stabbed so hard it pierced an artery and the other having been almost completely skinned (left and right, respectively), he figured he had a right to wear them.

He saw that Polkiss kid from the next road smoking with the rest of the gang that Nico had dubbed 'the Big and Stupid', purely for the reason that Lacy would slap him upside the head if he called them what he dearly wanted to. She had been trying to break him of his bad swearing habit for a while now and had seemingly succeeded.

(Not that he wasn't swearing a lot in his head, but she didn't need to know that.)

The youngest whale of Number Four - who looked more like a cross between a gorilla and a pig up close, if gorilla/pig hybrids came in dumb blond - was picking on a few kids, and the slightly scrawny black-haired boy from the same house looked like he was going to blow up as he stormed over to them.

Nico took this as his cue to intervene.

"Is something wrong here?" he asked smoothly, sipping his coffee nonchalantly.

It was a really good coffee.

The pirilla - or would it be gorig? What do you call a gorilla/pig hybrids anyway? - whirled round and sneered at him, before his face morphing into one of shock and recognition. Nico wasn't surprised. Many sport brands and government-run companies paid him and his family big bucks to slap their names and faces on every bit of equipment or campaign they could ever produce. It resulted in annoying attention from the public, but it had its advantages - like getting a free coffee at Cafe Nero.

It really was a good coffee.

Knowing the press, there'd be a picture on the front page of the news tomorrow reading **The End of Starbucks? Nico di Angelo Seen Going to Rival Coffee Marketer Cafe Nero** or something of similar ridiculousness.

Anyway, the black-haired teenager seemed to either not recognise him, or just not care. Nico didn't know, and quite frankly didn't care.

"No," the pirilla practically squeaked. "Nothing at all."

Nico arched his eyebrow. "Has your voice not broken yet? If no, then that's a shock. Then again, you do look to be one of those late to maturity, so I suppose you have an excuse." The darker haired boy repressed a smile at the back-handed comment. "If yes, then stop squeaking. It's not helping your image."

The pirilla's jaw dropped, and the dark-haired boy snorted lightly.

"My sister always used to tell me not to leave my mouth open or a fly would fly in and I'd choke to death," he continued, not taking his eyes off the boy. He was aware, of course, of the rest of the other members of the Big and Stupid gang coming up behind him, but he'd deal with them when the time came to it. "I'd hate for that to happen to you."

He sipped his coffee again to hide his smirk as the pirilla shut his mouth.

"And would you please tell the rest of your gang that attacking someone from behind is not in the spirit of sportsmanship and I could have them charged with assault if they so much as touched me," he continued in the same tone as before.

He heard the rest of the group stop in their tracks.

"Also, if they want to successfully sneak up on someone, they should probably be quieter. The sound like fucking elephants." And there came the curse he was wondering about. Whenever he was insulting someone, the comments just seemed to slip out, fully formed and calculated for maximum damage upon impact. He generally didn't even think about what he said, which left his conscience to roam and detect any threats that happened to be around.

Which, with him being one of the Big Three children, there were generally a lot of.

This seemed to be too much for the black-haired boy who burst out laughing.

The kids the pirilla was beating up before looked confused at the sudden change in plans.

As the gorig (Nico had decided pirilla was getting old now) and co rounded on the other boy, Nico raised an eyebrow at them, the message clear: _Well, get up. He's not going to ignore you forever_. The kids got up, and Nico jerked his head to the side, again being very clear in the message he was sending: _If you want to get away, now's your chance_.

They scrambled away as fast as their little legs could carry them.

Nico smiled.

Then the gorig rounded on him.

"AND WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO CMOE HERE AND ACT LIKE YOU OWN THE PLACE?" he roared.

"Oh good, your not squeaking," Nico said, just to annoy him. "I'd hate for that to be a permanent impediment for you. I mean, no-one would ever take you seriously with it. Then again, with that stupid look on your face that actually seems to be permanent, no-one takes you seriously anyway."

Everyone who had stopped to listen was stunned into silence.

The black-haired boy's lips twitched upwards again.

Nico nonchalantly sipped his coffee again, smiling patronizingly.

It was cold now.

The sight of Nico's condescending smile seemed to set off the gorig, who roared - yup, Nico could _definitely_ image him in a colony of gorillas - and swung at him with a giant meaty fist.

Nico ducked and, with speed that came from having to dodge Jason whenever he decided to randomly swing at him with his _gladius_, sent an uppercut that clocked the pirilla square in the chin.

He stood in stunned silence.

Nico tut-tutted patronizingly. "That wasn't nice," he scolded condescendingly.

"You ... You ..." The gorig/pirilla seemed to be lost for words.

"Yes?" Nico snapped irritably, all traces of mocking compassion gone from his face. "Hurry up, boy, I don't have all day. I'm a busy man."

"Your not much older then me!" The pirilla - Nico still didn't know his name - said, outraged.

"Yes, but I'm far more mature then you are."

The pirilla glared at him murderously.

Nico emptied the remaining contents of his now-cold coffee over his head - he was a good inch or so taller then the gorig.

Again, everyone was at a loss for words.

It was broken by the laughter of the black-haired boy.

He doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears running from his eyes.

Nico continued to glare frostily at the gorig.

The gorig and his minions ran in the opposite direction as fast as they could.

The dark-haired boy collapsed and was literally rolling on the floor - ground? - laughing. Nico allowed himself to crack a smile once the crowd dispersed.

Seeing the boy had now finished his laughing fit, Nico offered his hand up. "Need a hand?"

The boy grasped it, still wheezing. "I'm going to pay for that later, but the look on his face ..." he tailed off, snorting.

"What's your name, anyway? I don't recognise you, and your accent is definitely not British," he said, his green eyes - Nico not being able to see them beneath the mop of dark hair before - wide and curious.

Nico recognised those eyes.

They looked like Lacy's.

He quickly pushed the thought away and answered, holding out his hand again. "Nico di Angelo. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Harry Potter. Likewise."

With Harry

Harry wasn't above admitting to finding things good-looking.

Of course, that didn't mean he liked the way they looked as such, but he knew that there were many things that looked good in their own ways.

Things like Hermione in her simple, modest yet intelligent beauty; Hogwarts at night, in winter; he supposed if he were a girl Ron could be described as good-looking; even Aunt Petunia when she had the decency to smile; Ginny ... no, just Ginny.

As such, he was willing to admit that Nico had looks.

He was several inches taller then Harry, and two-or-so inches taller then Dudley. Even, Ron, who was pretty damn tall, was a good inch-or-so shorter then him. If Harry was to hazard a guess, he'd say Nico was about 6'1 or 6'2. He had a slim yet muscular build, like an athlete, long fingers like a pianist and seemed to be pretty well off as far as money was concerned - Harry had seen leather jackets and Doc Martins at times when Aunt Petunia dragged him along to shopping trips for Dudley, and they didn't come cheap. His face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones that gave him an aristocratic image, arched eyebrows and narrow, slanted eyes that gave him a distinctly foreign, European look. Any innocence they could possibly contain was destroyed by the colour. It was black. A soulless, terrifying shade of black at that.

Were there different shades of black?

Whatever.

He remembered seeing a picture almost exactly the same two years ago on the television. Something about him and the Olympics or something ... he didn't know. He wasn't allowed to look at the television.

There were white bandages wrapping round both his forearms - the one on his left a little shorter then the right, but thinker at the wrist, so Harry could see the beginning of what looked like a black tattoo on his forearm.

'_Maybe he's a Death Eater_.'

The thought flitted through Harry's mind, quick as a snitch, but for some reason Harry didn't think so. He didn't seem like the type, for reasons unknown

But, still, Nico unnerved him, but he wasn't sure why.

Something about the eyes, Harry was sure.

Dark ... Haunted ... Accusing ...

Oh God.

It was the same boy from the graveyard two years ago.

Shit.


	3. Albus Dumbledore

**Chapter Three - Albus Dumbledore**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, loads more people would have died, like most of the Weasleys, the Dursleys, and Harry himself. And Voldemort would have won. Only to have the ghosts of those who died come back to haunt him. And then kill him. Then end.**

**If I owned Percy Jackson, Annabeth would have turned traitor at the end of the Last Olympian, Jason wouldn't be Thalia's brother - heck, Jason wouldn't even be **_**in**_** the story - and a whole lot more shit would have gone down.**

**As you can probably guess by what I have said, I do not own HP or PJO/HoO**

**This chapter is in honour of Percabeth's anniversary - which, at the point of uploading this, was technically 1 hour, 29 minutes ago, but oh well.**

**Also, if you spot the Last Olympian and Lightning Thief references, kudos to you! Have a cookie! (::)**

The summer had probably been the best of Harry's life, which wasn't saying much, seeing as they'd all been horrid at best and jack shit at worst.

Currently, he was helping Percy out in the kitchen at Number Eight, Privet Drive. Well, he'd helped out earlier. Now he was sparring with Percy using a small half-bronze, half-gold dagger they'd leant him, and Percy was using a badly balanced kitchen knife, hitting Harry with the flat of the blade when he left himself too open to attack.

"Guard up Harry!" _Whap!_ "Not that far up!" _Whap!_ "Now back!" _Whap!_

Pretty soon, Harry was really looking forward to the bacon that was frying in the pan.

By the time Percy let him rest, the clock on the wall read 7:58. Nico should be up right about now - if he'd even _gotten_ to sleep - and God knows when Jason would be up.

About a minute later, there was the sound of something falling down the stairs, a groan, and a laugh.

Percy sighed, grabbed a wooden spoon and walked into the hallway shouting, "What is going _on_ here?!"

Nico was sprawled, face-down, on the floor at the base of the stairs, and someone was laughing from the top of the stairs. Jason, Harry would assume. He could dissolve himself into air, like Nico could with shadows, and Percy could with water. He had evidently snuck up on Nico and shoved him down the stairs. Harry knew Nico would make him pay for it later, though. That would be funny.

Percy poked Nico with the spoon. "Oi! Get up, or Jason's gonna step on ya."

Nico got up pretty quickly.

He collapsed on a chair, closely followed by Jason, who, despite having pushed Nico down the stairs mere seconds early, seemed to have decided it was much too early in the morning to be using energy. Harry was rather glad for that; Nico wasn't _bad_ at cooking, exactly, but Jason ... Harry shuddered. Any time Jason even _tried_ to cook, it ... how to put this delicately? ... spontaneously combusted.

"Thinking about Jason cooking, huh?" Percy muttered to him, noticing Harry's horrified expression.

Harry nodded numbly.

"Don't blame ya," said Percy sympathetically. "It's a nightmare. Frank and Octavian aren't much better."

Shortly after making friends with Nico, Harry found out Nico was an exchange student from Olympus Military and Combat Camps and would be going to Hogwarts the coming year. As a result, Harry had met almost all of the Jackson family, as they were collectively know, and told them all about Hogwarts and what little he knew on British Wizard Politics.

"There's a reason you and the general public don't know much on the inner workings of the Ministry," Nico had said. "Magical Britain is more corrupt then any other magical country. It's the magical version of North Korea."

He rolled his eyes in true Nico fashion.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Harry had said, unwilling to believe that the one place that had first accepted him to be truly as corrupt and isolated as he had just been told.

Percy, Nico and Annabeth - who was visiting - all arched an eyebrow at him.

"Alright Harry," said Percy, uncharacteristically serious, "what was the latest political scandal, in Magical France?"

Racking his questionable-at-best memory, Harry tried to recall any articles he had seen on French political scandals ... or any French thing, for that matter.

"Okay, you got me," he conceded. "But I don't read stories on French political scandals!"

"Exactly!" said Annabeth triumphantly. "Because there aren't any! The British Ministry doesn't want its people to know what's going on outside Britain!"

"But that's ..." Harry trailed off, wanting to say 'absurd', but all the pieces were falling into place. Why _were_ there no stories on anything foreign? Why were there so few foreign witches and wizards at the World Cup two years ago? Why was Fleur the only employee in any British-run business that wasn't from Britain?

_It makes sense_ said a voice in his head.

"Oh," he said, feeling like he needed to respond.

Another voice snorted. _Very eloquent._

_Like you could do any better._

_I could, actually, but _you _like to be in control, I can only settle for amusing comments and smart-ass commentary._

Percy grinned. "Just so you know the French Minister of Magic had a very Tiger Woods reminiscent downfall."

"Who?" Harry asked, curious.

Nico snorted, Annabeth smiled and Percy merely gave him a wide-eyed, naive look that fooled nobody. "Research it," he said innocently.

Needless to say, when Harry saw it, he was rather disgusted.

_Ugh,_ one of the voices had said.

In all honesty, conversations such as this were not uncommon in the Jackson household. This may be due to either a - Harry's naivety, b - the others' desire to rid him of this naivety, c - the fact that Harry spent more time around the Jackson household then his own, or d - a combination of all of the above. The most likely was probably "d".

It must be said, life at Privet Drive wasn't too bad now. This was due, in large part, to the 'positive emotions' ward around most of the neighbourhood, and a few more around the Dursley household in particular. Percy explained that they were fairly simple as far as wards went. They reinforced positive emotions and suppressed negative ones. They were one of the few types of wards with no direct negative side effects and were used heavily around magical juvenile detention centres in America. Any magical American family with a half-decent warder would have one around their house and local neighbourhood. Combined with Harry's lack of intrusive presence around Number Four, his relationship with the Dursleys had improved dramatically, especially with Dudley.

It was also due to Harry not being so worried about not being prepared to fight Voldemort. Sure, he had always been able to hold his own reasonably well until help arrived - something Harry generally put down to luck, good friends, and his good Defence against the Dark Arts abilities. Everything else, it must be said, he was piss-poor at on the whole. But now, he had other things to fall back on.

For one, his chances of actually being ambushed decreased thanks to several things, ranging from as simple as tuning out a conversation so as to listen to other things, to using Ligilimency to detect different minds, or, the most complicated and most accurate, learning to detect minute changes in the direction on the wind, or using magic to send out ultrasound waves like bats.

He had a diary/journal thing that Percy gave him. It wouldn't open for anyone he didn't want it to, and it was a bit like Tom Riddle's diary in that the ink would vanish, and it would respond if you asked a question that you legitimately wanted answering, but it wasn't a Horcrux, so he shouldn't worry.

This lead Harry to ask what a Horcrux was.

Which lead to a long discussion of Dark vs. evil.

Which lead to a long discussion on whether the ends justified the means.

Which lead to a long discussion on whether the sun did indeed shine out of Albus Dumbledore's wrinkly old arse.

Which lead to unpleasant mental imagery.

But back to the point.

Percy went back to humming something that sounded vaguely like Iron Maiden's 'The Number of the Beast' and turning over the bacon while Harry set the table, still arguing with those annoying voices.

"Morning," Nico yawned.

"Good morning," Percy said, overly-cheerfully, in what was an obvious attempt to annoy him, because Nico had never understood how people could be cheerful in the morning. Of course, given that he had a thirst for knowledge that rivalled Annabeth's, this meant that he consequently hated the matter.

His father was a morning person.

That didn't help his opinion on the matter.

Jason collapsed beside him, just as exhausted as he was.

This made Nico determined to at least not act so tired.

He and Jason would have helped, of course, but anything they did to do with cooking had a bad tendency to ... how to put this? ... spontaneously combust.

Needless to say, they didn't do 'cooking'.

"So ..." Jason said, trying to break the silence in the room (or stop himself from falling asleep. Which it is, we shall never know).

Nico arched an eyebrow. "So ... what?"

"Any plans for today?"

Nico rolled his eyes. "Since when do I do 'plans', Jason?"

"When you're riding into battle or something?"

If it had been anyone else, Nico would have tilted his head slightly and said "Point," but, as this was Jason, he could not concede. "Am I riding into battle right now?"

"Well no, but-"

"Exactly."

Harry and Percy rolled their eyes and sighed in unison.

_How annoying_, said one of Harry's many mental voices.

"Breakfast's ready," Percy said in a defeated tone.

"YUM!" exclaimed Jason, holding his knife and fork in his hands, eyes wide and looking very much like a cartoon character.

The remaining three rolled their eyes.

Over breakfast, the four started discussing what Hogwarts was actually like. Harry told them about the professors, the curriculum and extra-curricular activities, as well as expressing his own concerns about the failing standard of the school and the lack of anyone actually pushing them to do better. He admitted that, mostly, the only reason he got his homework done was Hermione nagging him to do it. He said that, sometimes, it was interesting, but no teachers - bar Flitwick, Sprout and Lupin - actually made the subject come alive and make them _want_ to learn it. McGonagall told them how important her subject was, but every other teacher was questionable at best in their teaching methods

In return, Nico, Percy and Jason told him about camp, what the Olympics were actually like, and also multiple survival tricks. They taught him the true basis of magic, and how, really, wandless magic was more powerful, not less, then magic with a wand, as you didn't have the wand absorbing your magic - that was why magical cores such as phoenix feathers were used, to prevent magical absorption as much as possible.

The one topic that had been avoided as much as was physically or mentally possible was, of course, family. That was a sore spot for everyone (Harry was an orphan, Nico might as well be one, Percy's father was 'lost at sea' as far as the general public was concerned, and Jason had never known either his father or his mother).

Harry was brought back into reality upon Nico saying, "What do _you_ think, Harry?"

"Hmm?" he asked.

His smart mental-voice sighed irritably. _Honestly, don't you ever listen? _

_Well I'm sorry if I had other things on my mind._

_You should always be learning things._

_That's what I have you for, isn't it?_

_Fine then._

Honestly! Really, Harry liked the voices and all (they were good company whenever the Dursleys locked him in the cupboard under the stairs or, in recent years, his bedroom - which wasn't much bigger, in all honesty) but _damn_ they were pretentious at times.

Anyway, they all helped clean up after breakfast. Percy left almost immediately ("I leave Camp for two days and everything goes wrong," he moaned. "Annabeth tries, but Theo's really a handful. Not to mention that there's _so - much - paperwork!_"), closely followed by Jason ("My manager is possibly the most stubborn man ever. No rest for the wicked, I suppose." "Who's your manager?" "My uncle.")

Soon after, Nico and Harry left the house ("I don't have any training or anything," Nico said. "I limp too badly to run professionally anymore," here, he pulled a face, "and there's no filming for the new film until October, so I'm free." If you're confused, Nico, Percy, Jason, Piper, Annabeth, Leo, Octavian, Thalia and Reyna all double as actors. They joined in one collective film trilogy - The Hollywood Drama series (Hollywood Drama I, Hollywood Drama II: What now? And Hollywood Drama III: The Way Out (to be released April 2015)) and Nico had also been the "bad guy" in some horror film or other. Really, whatever it was couldn't compare to the Hollywood Drama trilogy - those movies were fucking hilarious.) Soon, Nico attested to his ability to be a comedian upon starting possibly the most ridiculous debate they had ever had.

"Nu-uh. Baseball _so_ beats soccer."

"No way. And its _football_, _honestly_."

"Not for me. I'm American, remember?"

"Technically, you're half Italian, half British."

"I dont count the British side, as you well know. And I was raised in America, I represented America at the Olympic ames and my home is in Kansas, in America. Therefore, I'm American."

"Let us not forget that incredibly annoying accent of yours."

"Now you're just being petty."

"Very true," Harry agreed. "Anyways, football will always beat baseball."

"Never!"

"What're you talking about?" asked Dudley, approaching them from across the street.

"Whether baseball beats soccer - which it _totally_ does."

"Its football. And you're both wrong; rugby owns your faces."

"Football beats _all_ other sports - and I _told_ you its football!"

"I disagree. And its not football if you're American - its _soccer_."

And so they continued.

It was a mere two weeks into the holiday that Harry got Dumbledore's letter. Feeling an uncharacteristic surge of rebelliousness, Harry ignored it - at least, partially. He would "accidently" be late, temporarily take away the filter between is brain and mouth (which, in all honesty, hadn't been on since he'd become friends with Nico nearing three weeks ago) and basically be the smart-ass he was infamous for being around Privet Drive.

He was looking forward to it.

Albus Dumbledore walked up Privet Drive at exactly 11:00 pm that Friday. Almost absently, he noticed that, apparently, Number Eight had sold. It looked to be fairly nice. Rapping neatly on the door, he waited patiently for it to open. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Petunia Dursley appeared in the doorway.

"Oh," she said. "It's you."

Was it just him, or was her voice lacking its usual bite of hatred?

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I was wondering if Mr Potter was here?" he continued, eyes twinkling.

Petunia brushed it off. "No. he's with the Jacksons."

"Who?"

"The Jacksons," she repeated, as though he was stupid.

Seeing his still-confused expression, she elaborated: "They moved into Number Eight recently. Good thing too. I don't know what they did, but the boy as been far more bearable this past summer. Spends most of the day out, comes back around midnight, and is up and making breakfast by six. If he spends the night out - it has happened before - then there'll be food on the doorstep." She cast a disapproving eye at him. "Finally started pulling is weight round here. No thanks to you."

"May I wait inside?" he asked, ignoring the last part of her statement.

Petunia sniffed. "If you must." She opened the door to let him inside. "Shoes off by the door."

A few seconds later, he was sitting in the living room with a glass of water, a crumpet and a newspaper in front of him. He didn't know why, but the Dursleys seemed to be much more accepting of magic recently. It was frustrating, truly.

An hour and ten minutes later, a slightly obnoxious voice sounded from the doorway. "We're home!"

"You don't live here Nico!" said two others.

"Yeah, but who cares?"

"Maybe I care," said a voice that sounded like Harry's.

"What influence do you hold here?"

"I'm Harry-Freaking-Potter. What more do you want?"

"You hold little to no influence in the celebrity world and so, your opinion carries no weight. Mine, on the other hand ..."

"Shut it di Angelo."

Dumbledore started. Di Angelo? As in, Maria di Angelo?"

Petunia bustled to the door. "Hello Nico! It's good to see you again."

"You too, Mrs Dursley. How's your husband?"

"He's fine."

"That's good. I shall be taking my leave."

Dumbledore got the feeling that this was the point where the stranger bowed.

"_Au revoir_!"

"Stop speaking French!" Harry said.

There was a sound of laughter, and then the door closed. Looking out of the window, Dumbledore saw a tall boy with black hair limp down the drive. He was … unusual, to say the least. Most obvious was how you couldn't hear him walk along the gravel drive, or how he seemed to glide even though he favoured his left leg badly.

A few moments of conversation later, Petunia finally brought up the fact that Albus Dumbledore was in the living room.

Harry swaggered into the living room.

"Yo Teach," he greeted jovially, sprawling on the opposite sofa like he owned the world. How's it hanging? More to the point, why are you ere?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I do believe I sent a missive informing you of my prescience this evening."

Understanding dawned on array s face. "OH! Was that today? Or rather, yesterday. Sorry Professor. Been busy, y know? What with the You-Know-What n all …" he trailed off.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied curtly, still rather miffed at a - being left waiting, and b - being spoken to in a blatantly disrespectful manner. "May I talk with your relatives?"

"Sure!" Harry replied, just as unperturbed as before. "Oi Tuney!" he called. "Big D! Could ya come in ere? Dumbles wants ta talk to ya. And Vernon, too."

Without any semblance of reluctance, the Dursleys filed in. Dudley sat on the arm of the sofa, with Vernon and Petunia next to him. Harry remained sprawled on the other end of the sofa.

Suddenly, he jumped up and had his wand at the headmaster's throat in less than a second. "Who," he said coldly, a far cry from the jovial and informal tone he had previously used, "did you send to give me my Hogwarts letter?"

"Rubeus Hagrid," Dumbledore replied.

Grinning, Harry pulled his wand away from the Headmaster's throat. "Sorry, sir," he said, sliding back into the informal tone and easy grin, "needed to make sure you are who you say you are, and not that you aren't but saying you are even though you aren't, cause if you aren't who you said you are, you wouldn't have been able to answer me question designed to determine if you are who you say you are. Luckily, you passed, and so, I believe you are, in fact, who you say you are. And yes, that was purposefully phrased in an attempt to confuse you."

He turned on his heels and strutted back to the sofa, before sprawling languidly across it again.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore said, trying to act like he had followed what Harry had said. "There are a few matters which must be settled. The main problem is that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."

"Yes," Harry said mildly. "Cant say I'm surprised." He looked sharply at Dumbledore. "Mind if I get a coke? I'm kind of thirsty, see. Just got back in. Been out all day with D and Nico."

Dumbledore made a "go on" gesture. "Of course."

Harry looked at Dudley. "Want one, D?"

Dudley smiled. "Yeah, please."

"Tuney? Vernon?"

Both nodded affirmative.

"Professor?"

"I'm afraid I must decline."

Harry nodded and waved and. Four Coca Colas came zooming into the living room, hovering above Petunia, Vernon, Dudley or Harry.

Harry opened is coke and took a sip. He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Good stuff, that," he said. He raised his can almost mockingly towards Dumbledore. "Cheers."

He mimicked Dumbledore's earlier "go on" gesture. "You were saying?"

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore carried on. "The slightly problematic part of this is that Sirius also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Harry pursed is lips. "Keep using it as headquarters, if you must," he said dismissively, "I don't care. I wont be able to set foot in there without thinking about how Sirius seemed to leave one prison for another." he looked Dumbledore up and down critically. "Really, it wouldn't have killed him if you just let him o to the park every once in a while in dog form. Claim he was Tonks's and she was taking him for a walk or something. Then again, logic has never been a magical s strong point, but _really_."

Dumbledore took another deep breath. "That is generous," he said. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."

Harry sipped his coke again. "Is it within my rights to ask?" he said wryly.

"Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line to the nearest male with the name of Black. Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless," Dumbledore said stiffly. "While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pure-blood."

Thinking of the shrieking portrait of Mrs Black in the hallway, Harry smiled slightly sadistically. "I'll bet there has," he muttered.

"Quite," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then ownership of the house would likely pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry snorted into his coke can. "Good luck bitch," he muttered. "I'd fucking kill her first n consider it a service to the community."

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it," said Dumbledore calmly - or as calmly as one can be when one's Golden Boy made his homicidal tendencies very clear.

"Let me guess," Harry drawled. "I have to perform some task that proves I do, in fact, own the house. Judging by previous experience, I'd call Kreacher, right?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"Kreacher!" called Harry sharply.

*There was a loud _crack_ and a house-elf appeared, wit a snout for a nose, giant bats ears and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys shagpile carpet and covered in grimy rags.*

All three Dursleys gasped.

"What _is_ that?" shrieked Petunia.

"Kreacher wont, Kreacher wont, Kreacher wont," croaked the house-elf.

"Shut UP!" Harry bellowed. He grabbed Kreacher by the front of his grimy tea-towel. "You listen up right now you sorry excuse for a house-elf: _I'm_ your master now. You'll do as _I_ say, you'll do what _I_ want, and you'll shut up when I tell you to shut up, or your head will never go up next to your ancestors. Clear?"

"Yes sir," mumbled Kreacher reluctantly.

"Good," said Harry. "You've disgraced the house of Black wit your substandard behaviour, and while Sirius may have put up wit it, _I_ wont. I'm going to make this perfectly clear: you have one chance and one chance only to prove you can still do your job. I'm going to come back to number twelve someday; it might be tomorrow, might be ten years from now, but it better be _spotless_ when I do. I will not have you shaming the Noble and Most Ancient house of Black any longer."

"Yes sir."

"Good. Oh, and I forbid you communication with anyone loyal to Voldemort."

"Fine Master."

"Now be gone with you."

Kreacher vanished wit another loud _crack_.

Harry stared at the muck on the carpet where Kreacher had been. "Deeply sorry, Tuney. I'll just clean that up."

One quick wrist flick later, and the room was as spotless as it had been before.

"Anyway," Dumbledore continued, "would I be right to assume you have not packed?"

Harry shrugged. "I never truly unpacked, but I do have some shiz to put in my trunk. Oh, and some people to re-arrange plans with. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not, my boy."

A few minutes later Harry was bringing his trunk down the stairs.

"Right," e said. "Lets go!"

"Wait just one minute!" said Tuney sternly.

"Yes, Aunt Tuney?"

"Are you sure you've got everything."

"Yes Aunt Tuney."

"Really?"

"Yes Tuney."

"All your scool books?"

"Yes Aunt Tuney."

"Did you empty the washer?"

"Yes Aunt Tuney."

"Did you get that brownie recipe from the Jacksons?"

"Yes Aunt Tuney."

"Okay then. Have fun!"

"Thanks Aunt Tuney."

After shaking hands with Vernon, giving Dudley a bro hug and promising to write, Harry was ready to o.

As soon as they were out tHe door, Harry said, "Alright, lets go!" He began walking off towards the park.

"Harry?" questioned Dumbledore.

"I told you, sir, I have plans to rearrange."

"Oh," said Dumbledore. "Of course."

Humming something that sounded like "Rocket Queen" by Guns n Roses (Harry did like that song), mentor and student strolled along in the moonlight.

Jeez, that could sound _so_ wrong

Harry's wrong thoughts aside, they soon neared Mongolia Crescent Park. Despite being padlocked (the park _did_ close, you know), Harry entered easily.

Dumbledore followed, slightly more hesitantly. "Harry," he whispered, for it seemed wrong to break the peaceful, if a little scary, silence, "are you sure you know what you're …" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Not that it mattered, arry got the point loud and clear.

Harry beckoned for him to follow, slipping into the silent park.

Well, that was a lie; it wasn't completely silent.

Gentle winds whispered in the trees, rustling the branches softly. Grass crunched under their feet and a rabbit, illuminated by the pale moonlight, scuttled into its burrow.

Beautiful, yet creepy.

Still humming, but a different tune (Don't Cry, Guns N Roses, again) harry carried on, Dumbledore still trailing behind like a lost puppy.

Suddenly, Harry stopped, the taller man almost crashing into him. The source of this abrupt chaos? A tall, dark-haired stranger.

Or at least, stranger to Dumbledore.

For he and Harry seemed to know each other pretty well, given the fact that were deeply engrossed in conversation already.

"Who's he?" asked the boy abruptly.

"Huh?" said Harry. "Oh, right. That's Albus Dumbledore, you already know the rest. Professor, this is Nico di Angelo, a friend of mine."

"I'd say it's a pleasure," said Nico rudely, glaring at him, "but it's really not."

Harry sighed. "You really can't be polite for once, can you?"

"Not to someone who might as well have murdered my mother!"

"Whatever. Got a fag?"

Nico smirked and handed him a cigarette. _You're just trying to shock him, aren't you? I __know__ you don't smoke._

_Very true_, said Harry, lighting the cigarette with a click of his fingers.

"Anyway," he said aloud, after taking a drag, "I'm off to the Weasleys now, so I can't do tomorrow. Or later today. Whatevs. Point is, I'm not available for the rest of the summer."

"Ah well," Nico said. "Shit happens. See you in September!"

"In September," Harry agreed.

Just as Nico was limping off in the direction they had just come from, his left leg making a metallic _clank_ noise each time it hit the ground, Harry called obnoxiously, "Remember to send me a birthday card!"

Nico gave him the middle finger and walked off.

Swallowing his doubt, Dumbledore said, "Well then, if that's all, we'd best be off."

"Indeed we should," agreed Harry, dropping the remains of his cigarette and crushing it under his foot. "Let us go."

**Holy shit this chapter was a bitch to write! I hope you've enjoyed it. I tried to put a different spin on the story then most people have - after all, in every one I've read, Hermione makes an effort to be close to Nico while Harry and Ron look on jealously and protectively. In this one, Harry and Nico are friends, and Hermione and Ron think Nico's a Death Eater.**

**Harry, of course, knows better.**

**Just to reassure you, Harry's not a delinquent in this; it was just an act to scare Dumbles.**

**Anyways, that's all from me for now,**

**Follow, Favourite, review etc.**

**DD.**

**P.S. I cant upload the next chapter till the I get a result on my poll. So get voting!**

**P.P.S. If you read the previous A/N, you'll know my keyboard isn't working properly. So sorry for any spelling mistakes; let the world witness I tried.**


	4. Back to the Weasleys'

**Chapter 4 - Back to the Weasleys'**

**A.K.A An Excess of Phlegm**

**So, for this chapter, we're assuming the visit to Slughorn's went the same, but Harry actually noticed the dragon's blood and found Slughorn instead of Dumbledore. Add in a few smart-ass comments and BAM! There's a chapter. We're heading straight to the Weasleys and leaving the demigods behind for a bit.**

**Poll states the following: four vote for major bashing, one for "I don't really care", one for minor. Major it is!**

* * *

It was 7:58 when Harry woke up the next morning. '_Oh God I'm turning into Nico_,' he thought, groaning mentally. According to both Percy and Nico (Jason couldn't care less), Nico's weirdest habit was waking up at exactly 7:58 every morning, no matter where he was in the world or what time he'd gone to sleep the previous night. Except when he'd been in a coma for several months, but apparently that was another story, and one Harry hadn't heard fully yet, although he knew the basics.

But enough of Nico's oddly accurate sleeping/waking patterns. That's not important.

As it was pretty early in the morning for the summer, no-one else was up yet. So, Harry walked out of the room filled with puking pastilles and nosebleed nougat and went to practice some of the skills the Jacksons had taught him. In the kitchen, he started breakfast and started practicing with a normal kitchen knife. It wasn't nearly as good as the small half-bronze, half-gold dagger Percy had leant him (and that he still hadn't returned), but it'd do. Really, knife fighting was the only thing Harry could practise at the Weasleys, apart from maybe judo, that he had been taught over the summer. These skills were fencing, kick boxing, judo, knife fighting and archery - he was good at judo, knife fighting and archery, but he didn't have the natural muscle type for the more strength-related sports. Nico was similar, Percy said. He was a bit more wiry then the others, which was why he was a good runner. He was a great sword fighter because he could spot holes in his enemy's guard.

While the bacon was cooking and the bread was toasting, Harry doodled in the notepad/journal thing Percy had given him a while ago. He said that it was a bit like Tom Riddle's diary in that the ink would vanish, and it would respond if you asked a question that you legitimately wanted answering, but it wasn't a Horcrux, so he shouldn't worry.

This lead Harry to ask what a Horcrux was.

Which lead to a long discussion on whether Dark meant evil.

Which lead to a long discussion on whether the ends justified the means.

Which lead to a long discussion on whether the sun did indeed shine out of Albus Dumbledore's wrinkly old backside.

But back to the point.

Soon after, Mrs Weasley came downstairs, obviously about to cook breakfast. She seemed surprised and a little annoyed that Harry had done it for her. (Luckily, he had heard Mrs Weasley coming downstairs and had put away the knife.)

Harry took a moment to contemplate her.

For Harry, his friendship with the three brothers - or, really, two brothers and a cousin (Nico had been adopted by the Jackson family officially two years ago, and unofficially long before that) but Jason might as well be a brother for how they treated each other - had given him a different perception on basically everything. It wasn't that they tried to turn him again who he considered his family, but more that they gave him a different view of them. Whether it was good or bad, it depended, but it was different.

For Ron, Harry now knew he had a bit of a jealousy and inferiority problem that clouded his judgement, but was fiercely loyal to Harry. The way all four of them saw it, Ron had let his jealousy of Harry override his common sense in fourth year, and it had opened his eyes to how much his friendship with Harry meant to him. It was unlikely to influence his friendship with Harry badly too much, although Harry should probably be careful to not give too much charity, for fear of making Ron's inferiority complex worse then it already was.

For Hermione, she was probably Harry's most loyal friend, although her worship of authority figures could cause problems. She seemed to have largely outgrown it, though, and Percy had speculated that her 'know-it-all' attitude and slightly bossy voice had alienated her from her peers in primary school, so authority figures had, to Hermione, seemed to be the only people who cared about her and encouraged her. This would have made her subconscious automatically think of authority figures as trustworthy people. Her narrow-mindedness could also be a problem, and Harry decided he'd break her of that or die trying.

Mrs Weasley was still very much the same: motherly, protective and slightly suffocating in her protectiveness. Percy had compared her to his own mother, but stated that his mother hadn't tried to wrap him in bubble wrap before.

Harry wouldn't be surprised if Mrs Weasley had tried that.

The other four didn't have particularly positive opinions on her, but they kept them to themselves. They didn't want to have Harry think too badly about the first people who had ever truly cared about him.

Mr Weasley had undergone a bit of a change in Harry's perspective. It wasn't that he was weak, per say, but Nico had pointed out several times in what Harry had told them that Mr Weasley blatantly disagreed with some things, but didn't question it, or even stand up for what he believed in. Jason's contribution that even though women were undoubtedly scary, you had to put yourself through a bit of pain when you knew you were right. From that, they could conclude that Mr Weasley was a bit of a pushover.

Dumbledore had probably undergone the biggest change in Harry's opinion. They all agreed that the man had Harry's and the world's best intentions at heart but, as Nico so eloquently put it, "the man's gone senile in his old age." There were several holes in the stories he'd told Harry that he hadn't noticed until now. When Harry'd asked how the hell they'd noticed all this, they'd shrugged and said "ADHD has to serve some purpose, right?"

Things like the blood wards. According to Nico (and Jason, and Percy and several warding books they'd leant him) blood wards were ancient magic, and ran on positive emotions. Judging by both Harry's stories and their own observations, most would deduce, and correctly so, that there were very few positive emotions directed towards Harry in that house, and the wards were weak at best, and practically non-existent at worst. One well-aimed curse could bring them down.

Besides, Voldemort had used Harry's blood in the ritual to regain his body. The wards didn't work against him, so their purpose could no longer be fulfilled anyway.

Even so, his mother had lots of relations; Aunt Petunia was just the closest. According, again, to Nico, Percy, Jason and this time several others who the trio had managed to contact using some spell that sounded Greek and a galleon, Nico's girlfriend Lacy was some sort of cousin to him.

Harry'd had a conversation with Lacy over the afore mentioned spell, and she seemed to be a pleasant, well-rounded person. Harry could definitely see how they were related. She looked much like any picture he had seen of his mother, with almost unnaturally wide bright green eyes the same as his own, framed by dark eyelashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. Copper-coloured hair that looked to be woven with gold in the sunlight framed a heart-shaped face with fair skin. She was petite, but with long and slender legs and more curves than Lavender Brown. Her smile was warm and comforting; her eyes sparkled with joy and infused every bit of her face with a radiant glow, revealing perfect, pearly white teeth.

She looked to be happy and carefree.

Unlike Mrs Weasley right now.

"You shouldn't be near a hot stove," she scolded.

Harry rolled his eyes unnoticeably. "With all due respect Mrs Weasley, I've been cooking since I was tall enough to reach the stove top. I've done potions for five years and I've fought a dragon - and won. I know how to handle heat."

"I know, but you're so _young_ ..."

"I'm sixteen," Harry interrupted. "I'm of age next year, and have been legally acknowledged as an adult since I was fourteen. I've been through more than most adults, and done more in the war against Voldemort then almost all the auror force. I'm not _young_, Mrs Weasley, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a five-year-old. It's degrading."

All of this was said in a cool, calm tone that brokered no argument.

Mrs Weasley drooped her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Harry, dear. It's just ... Well, you've been through so much. I've always wanted for you to have a normal childhood, so I guess it came out in the way I was talking."

Harry smiled slightly and hugged Mrs Weasley. "It's fine Mrs Weasley, and I appreciate your concern more then you can imagine, but I _do_ have _some_ sense of self-preservation, as redundant as it is."

"Alright, dear," Mrs Weasley said, smiling again. "I'll help you finish the cooking."

Harry checked the pan. "It's right about done now. I'll set the table if you get the stuff out the oven?" he offered.

Mrs Weasley smiled in agreement and walked to the pan to get the bacon out, while Harry started setting the table.

About half-way through, Ginny came down, only to be greeted by the sight of Mrs Weasley putting food on the plate, Harry setting the table, and the soft sound of Harry singing to himself.

"_I grew from those who hate me,_

_Steadfast to a razorblade symphony._

_Cigarettes and lyrics made me,_

_Youth &amp; Whisky._"

He broke his tune and looked up, nodding and smiling at her in greeting.

"So, Harry," she said awkwardly, as Harry resumed what he was doing.

"_Can you see, can you see me?_

_I'm strong from what they made me._

_These angels, who carry me,_

_they taught me Youth &amp; Whisky._

Yeah Ginny?"

"When'd you arrive?"

"_Baptised in smoke and misery,_

_A loaded gun and a bastard's history._

_My temple's for the crazy._

_Youth &amp; Whisky._

Like, half two last night. Why?"

"I missed you. I would've liked to see you, is all."

"_No sorrow left inside of me,_

_celebrate the moments behind me._

_This shot is Holy Mary._

_Youth &amp; Whisky._

I missed you too, Gin. How's your summer been?"

"Not bad," she said, as Harry continued to sing, squashing down the feeling of elation that Harry'd missed her.

"What're you singing?" she asked, just to get him to stop. It wasn't that he was a bad singer, in fact he was quite good, but she decided the lyrics were too grim for this early in the morning.

"Youth and Whisky, by the Black Veil Brides."

"Are they a Muggle band?"

"Yeah. Well, kinda. The lead singer and lead guitarist both went to a magical combat camp in America, but they aren't 'magical' as far as their music goes."

"Cool," she said, struggling for a reply. "How'd you know that?"

"Know what?"

"Where they went to school and stuff."

"A new family moved to Privet Drive this summer," Harry explained. "The youngest, a boy my age named Nico, is an exchange student this year. They all went to that camp, and know them. The others are his brother and cousin. His brother's the American Albus Dumbledore, and his cousin is like a liaison, 'cause there are three camps, and they don't always get along."

"Really?" she asked. "Is he nice."

James the mental voice snorted. _Nico? Nice?_

_In what universe?_ snickered Jude (another voice).

_Lay off him guys,_ chided Tom.

_You just like him cause he's emo, like you_, accused Jude.

_Now is not the time!_ said Harry. _I'm trying to appear __sane__, thank you kindly._

_Sorry._

"I wouldn't use the word _nice_ to describe him," Harry said, after a moment's pause. "Supportive? Yeah. Funny? Kinda. Sarcastic? Oh hell yes. But _nice?_ Not really. But I suppose, if I were starved for adjectives, I'd describe him as _nice_."

"And his brother?"

"What about him?"

"I dunno. Just tell me anything that comes to mind."

"Um ... Okay. His name's Percy Jackson. He's 21 years old. He has ADHD and dyslexia. He's married, has a three-year-old son and quadruplets on the way - yes, I know its unlikely, but its true. He has black hair and green eyes, like me, but he's way more muscular. He's a master swordfighter, swims for the American Olympic team and won several gold medals in London 2012. He's not Nico's biological brother, but his father was kind of acquaintances with Nico's father, but they don't talk much, 'cause otherwise they'd probably hate each other, but his family adopted Nico two years ago, so in the eyes of the law they're related. He's probably the one I'd describe as _nice_, along with friendly, welcoming, brotherly, supportive, and is just an overall great guy. He used to work for the USIC, along with Nico, Frank, Leo and Jason - Jason is his cousin I was talking about earlier and Frank's some kind of distant cousin - but they've all retired from it now because they all - bar Leo - were captured on a mission in Afghanistan and were basically tortured for information. They started a jailbreak when they were meant to be executed, and it was broadcasted live to America as well, but they didn't die. All of them except Nico got out, 'cause he was helping a girl who got shot in the leg. He was found a month later on the brink of death and was in a coma for five months, but is perfectly fine now - well, he had his left leg amputated and has a prosthetic, but other then that he's fine. Percy has a pegasus named Blackjack who can understand English, French, Mandarin, Latin and Greek and can talk in Morse Code, and he is an amazing cook."

"That's a lot of info," Ginny said, amazed.

Harry shrugged. "I spent more time at their house then I did at mine this summer. It's thanks to them I didn't go bat-shit crazy."

By now, the table was sat, and they both sat down while Mrs Weasley served them food, and was making a conscious effort to not eavesdrop.

"Okay, what about Nico?"

"Why the sudden interest in my friends?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'm just curious, is all," Ginny said defensively, blushing slightly.

"Just messing with ya," he said, grinning lopsidedly.

Ginny's heart fluttered slightly.

"Um ... Nico. He's a pretty private person. Ooh, alliteration. Anyways, he doesn't talk about himself much, but he's almost as sarcastic as Percy - to be as sarcastic as Percy is impossible, which is why he's dubbed the 'King of Sarcasm' - and he's scary when he wants to be. He's a great swordfighter, but can't beat Percy - that's practically impossible as well. He's got the best aim in North America, is deadly with a set of knives, and is the fastest man to walk the Earth. Ever. He beat Usain Bolt's world record for fastest 100m sprint, and fastest 200m sprint. He was the youngest ever male Olympic gold medallist at 14 years and 190 days. He has bandages up both his forearms, and has a tattoo on his left - no, it's not the Dark Mark, I checked. Never, and I mean _never_ mention his parents. He will skin you alive. His father especially. He's a Parselmouth, like me, and so is Percy. They always piss off Jason by having conversations he can't understand. He plays the guitar and piano like a pro, anything he touches when it comes to cooking will, to quote him, 'spontaneously combust,' - he's exaggerating though, _Jason's _ the one that makes stuff spontaneously combust. As I said earlier, he's had is leg amputated, but compared to losing his life, he said he found it a fair deal. He's necromancer, highly stubborn and is very protective of his family. He's an Occlumency and Ligilimency master and tutored me in Occlumency for a bit. He's dating a girl named Lacy, who's some form of cousin of mine. She has dark red hair, fair skin, is short but athletic, has green eyes the same colour as mine and works for a modelling agency, much like her half-sister Piper, who married Jason a few years back. They both have budding musical careers, and are apparently quite popular, but I've only heard one song - King For A Day.* It's actually pretty good."

Before Ginny had a chance to reply, Hermione came downstairs, looking thoroughly fed up. She took one look at Harry, blinked, and then launched herself into his arms.

"HARRY! You didn't tell us you were here!"

Harry patted her back awkwardly. "I got here like, half two this morning, Hermione. I came down about an hour ago to make breakfast and I've been talking to Ginny. There wasn't really much time."

"That's why you look all cheerful," Hermione said triumphantly. "You looked really grumpy when you came down and now you're almost smiling!"

"Wait, why would you be grumpy?" Harry asked, confused. "And does it have anything to do with what made Hermione look right-royally pissed off as she came down the stairs?"

"It's _her_," Ginny whispered conspiringly. *"She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me - you'd think I was about three!"*

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, coming into the room. "Harry! When'd you get here, mate?"

"Like, half two this morning? I didn't think to check my watch," Harry replied.

"And to answer your question, Ron, it's _her_," Ginny practically spat.

*"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

Harry was astonished to hear Hermione talk about Mrs Weasley like this, and could not blame Ron for saying angrily, "Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?"

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her."

This seemed an odd comment to make about Ron's mother; starting to feel that he was missing something, Harry said, "Who are you-?"

But his question was answered before he could finish it.* Yet another figure came down the stairs and Harry instinctively jumped, squeaking his chair legs against the floor.

*A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow.* In that way, she reminded Harry of Jason's sister Thalia, who also seemed to glow silver, but not quite the same way.

*"'Arry," she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold towards him, Mrs Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.*

"There was no need to move the box to get that pastille, I was just about to do it myself!"

*"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, swooping in to kiss Harry on each cheek: he felt the places her mouth had touched him burn.*

Jeez that sounded wrong. He had been spending far_, far_ too much time with Nico.

*"I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh ... is she here too?" Harry croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next summer, when we - but do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet."

Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Harry blankly. He could not help noticing how Mrs Weasley, Hermione and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding each other's gaze. "Wow. Er - congratulations!"

She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'here for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming - zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well - enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!"*

Grabbing a piece of toast from the pile, *she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mrs Weasley made a noise that sounded like 'tchah!'

"Mum hates her," said Ginny quietly.

"I do not hate her!" said Mrs Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've rushed into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left right and centre -"

"Including you and Dad," said Ginny slyly.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?" said Mrs Weasley.*

She was clearly about to continue, but Harry butted in.

"What makes you think Bill and Fleur are any different?" he asked, tilting his head to the side the same way Nico did. He always found it rather unnerving, especially coupled with the large, innocent eyes. He knew it wouldn't have quite the same effect Nico's or Percy's had, but he hoped it would be enough.

He must have pulled it off fairly well, for Mrs Weasley shifted uncomfortably. *"Well ... what have they got in common? He's a hard-working down-to-Earth -"*

Harry interrupted, glaring at the three women at the table. "What do you and Arthur have in common? You're strict, protective, with a fiery temper. He's a bit of a pushover who likes experimenting with Muggle machines and about as even tempered as you can get. My friend's brother is hard-working, slightly goofy, very humble man, and his wife, who he's been in love with since he was twelve, is prideful, no-nonsense, and the female re-incarnation of Albert Einstein. The day they break up is the day Snape wears pink and starts handing out candy singing show tunes. In other words: not gonna happen. I don't know what problem you've got with Fleur, but have you thought about this from her perspective? She a foreigner, in a country that's about to go to war, and now her fiancé's family hates her. She's probably homesick and you're not making her feel welcome. At least _try_ to be nice. You're accusing her, but you've probably been this scornful from the beginning. Make an effort an be nice. If it turns out you're right, and she's as big a bitch as you seem to think she is, you have my full permission to rub my face in it screaming 'I TOLD YOU SO!' but I'll be pretty surprised if it's true."

_Nice monologue_, said Malcolm, the smart voice.

By the end of his mini monologue, they all looked suitably humbled.

"I suppose you're right, Harry," Mrs Weasley said. "I'll go talk to Fleur."

Harry nodded at her. "Now, where were we?"

"Who's that friend you mentioned?" Ron asked. "None of your friends that I know have brothers who are married. Did you just make them up?"

Seeing Hermione's and Ginny's glares levelled at him, Harry held up his hands in an 'I surrender' motion. "No, I didn't."

"Then who are they?"

"A guy called Nico and his family."

"Oh yeah!" Ginny exclaimed. "You were telling me about him! The Olympic sprinter, right?"

"Nico? As in, Nico di Angelo? You're friends with _the_ Nico di Angelo?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know who this Nico di Angelo guy is?" Ron threw up his hands in frustration.

"Yes," the other three chorused.

"Who is he?"

"He's the youngest ever male Olympic gold medallist," Hermione said, "and the fastest man to walk the Earth. Ever. He worked for the USIC, and is probably most well remembered for almost being hung in a concentration camp in the Middle-East. It was supposed to crush people's spirits, seeing young but well-respected members of society be executed. Nico was supposed to be the first to die, and he acted it up, too. Bowed to the camera and swore at the leaders as he was on the scaffold. He ended up pushing the executioner into the noose, and his cousin Jason pulled the lever and killed him. Next thing the viewers know, there's this huge jailbreak, resulting in an estimated 200 dead, but 3/4 of those who survived escaped. Nico was hailed as a hero for nearly dying in order to get a young girl with a crippled leg to safety."

"Wow," Ron said, eyes wide. "Tough guy."

"Very," Harry agreed. "He always wears bandages over his forearms, 'cause they're really badly scarred. He's got a tattoo on his left arm."

"He could be a Death Eater," Ron pointed out.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I've seen the tattoo, Ron. It's not the Dark Mark. It's like ... Here." He took out his notepad and pen, and drew the tattoo Nico had on the paper. The letters SPQR, eight stripes underneath*, and a black glyph like a cross with curved arms and a head. "Everyone who goes to his school gets one," Harry explained. "The number of score marks represents years of service. Nico's been going every summer since he was eight, and for the last two years he's been staying year-round. Hence, eight stripes."

"That's barbaric!" Hermione gasped. "Burning tattoos into kids' skin!"

"Hermione!" Harry attempted to pacify her. "It's just their way. According to Nico, it only hurts for, like, two seconds, then it's like you haven't even got it. Nico rarely sees his, anyway. He was stabbed in the arm so hard an artery was pierced. He has to wear bandages otherwise it'll get infected - it _did_ get infected. There was a documentary on what soldiers had to go through when they were captured last summer; didn't you watch it?

Hermione shook her head. "There was the whole 'graphic details of torture' warnings. I can't deal with that sort of thing."

"Good thing you didn't watch it, then," Harry said. "There was a rerun on telly a while ago. I watched it and almost threw up. Nico walked in, saw what I was watching, and practically passed out."

"Why'd he nearly pass out?" Ginny asked.

"He's got PTSD," Harry said. "It's short for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I'm not surprised really. I only saw a bit of it and it was horrifying. I found Nico upchucking in the bathroom."

All of them winced.

"Okay, onto more pleasant subjects," Ron said, "what's his favourite colour?"

"I'm not sure. Red, I think."

"Favourite subject?"

"Athletics."

"No, magical subject. Like, the stuff they teach in school."

"He goes to a combat school, Ron," Harry reminded him. "Their core curriculum is Athletics, Fencing, Knife Fighting, Ancient Runes and Hand-to-Hand Combat. They learn mostly healing antidotes and deadly poisons in Potions, and they learn to transfigure items into shields in Transfiguration. They aren't given wands until they pass their N.E. , which aren't done at the end of Seventh Year like in Britain, but whenever their instructor thinks them to be ready. Nico took his at fourteen and got straight As - Os, for us. I came in on one occasion and found Percy looking for something. Of course, I asked what he was looking for and he answered, all nonchalant, 'My wand,' and, of course, I was dead shocked, like 'how the fuck can you just lose your wand?' and he told me he just misplaced it and didn't really need it anyway. This lead to a long discussion on Wand Lore, which Percy took until his O. , and the dropped it by choice even though he got an O. Turns out wandless magic is a whole lot more powerful then magic with a wand. I've been doing wandless magic all summer." Harry demonstrated by using a non-verbal wandless summoning charm on a piece of toast. "Completely untraceable by the Ministry!"

He took a large bite.

"Needs honey," he decided, chewing. "Pass the honey, wouldja Ron?"

"Why don't you just summon it?" Ron asked.

"'Cause it takes less energy to just have you pass it. Thank you."

Smearing generous amounts of honey onto his toast, Harry surveyed all their faces. "Look, guys, if you want to be on Nico's good side there is one thing you've got to do. Or rather, not do."

"What's that?" Hermione asked, leaning forwards slightly.

"Never, under any circumstances if you value your life, talk about Nico's family. Seriously, never. Unless you're into self-inflicted pain."

"Why?" Hermione asked. "I mean, he's been asked about it in interviews, why he'd been adopted by the Jacksons so late on in his life, but he'd always just clam up and refuse to say another word until they dropped it," she rambled.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be very good for his public image if he attacked a reporter," Harry said. "He has no such reservations about normal people. First time, he'll do exactly what Hermione just explained. Clam up and walk away. Second time he'll punch you. Third time ... well, he _does _carry around a pistol at all times ..."

"He carries a _gun_?" screeched Hermione. "But that's illegal!"

"Not in America," Harry reminded her. "And he's got an international license. He is a member of the military, after all."

"He's sixteen!"

"He's one of the best fighters the best military school in the world has."

"It's still not right."

"The world isn't right, Hermione. And until you're of age, there's very little you can do about it. Even when you _are_ of age, there's very little you can do. The fact you're a Muggle-born doesn't help matters."

"What does me being a Muggle-born have to do with anything?!" she demanded hotly.

"A lot," Harry replied. "Like it or not Hermione, there's still huge prejudice against anything and everything Muggle. Britain is like magical North Korea. We're told what we have to do and, on the whole, we do it. The ones who don't are imprisoned because someone lined another's pocket with a bit of gold. We're about as corrupt as a government can get."

"That's not true!" Hermione objected.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Alright then. Hermione, what was the latest political scandal in magical France?"

Hermione opened her mouth ... then closed it. She repeated the process before admitting in a small voice, "I don't know."

Harry nodded, wiping crumbs off his hands and leaning back in his chair. "Exactly. Any government-run newspaper such as the Prophet won't cover any international stories. I've got a subscription to the Magical version of _The Wall Street Journal_ and also _The Sorcerer's Week_. I'll give you a copy."

He walked upstairs, grabbed a copy of _The Wall Street Journal_ and walked downstairs again.

With Ron (Ha! Bet you weren't expecting _that_!)

Ron wasn't sure what to make of Nico. Sure, he couldn't be all bad - he seemed a bit like Harry in a way, risking his life to help a girl with a bad leg - but he just had some sort of feeling ... like being friends with Nico would come back and bite him in the arse.

He'd make an effort, though, for Harry's sake. After all, Harry was his first _real_ friend, and he trusted Harry's judgement on these things. It made him feel bad about what he and Hermione were doing to him … No. Don't think like that. It was for the greater good, after all. Dumbledore had said so, and Dumbledore was never wrong. Ever.

At least, that was what he told himself.

Just as Harry was coming down the stairs, holding a copy of what Ron could just about make out to be _The Wall Street Journal_, three black spots were visible on the horizon.

"Oh _no_!" squealed Hermione. "Our O.W.L results! I'd forgotten about them!"

Harry squeezed past them and opened the window. *One, two, three, the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All three of them lifted their right legs.*

Ron took a deep breath and went to untie his letter.

With Harry (again)

Harry moved towards the owls. *The letter addressed to him was tied to the leg of the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron was trying to detach his on results; to his right Hermione's hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.

Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Harry managed to detach the envelope. He slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Pass grades: Outstanding (O)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)_

_Acceptable (A)_

_Fail grades: Poor (P)_

_Dreadful (D)_

_Troll (T)_

_HARRY JAMES POTTER HAS ACHIEVED_

_Astronomy - A_

_Care of Magical Creatures - E_

_Charms - E_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts - O_

_Divination - P_

_Herbology - E_

_History of Magic - D_

_Potions - E_

_Transfiguration - E_

Harry read the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming easier with each reading. It was all right: he had always known he would fail Divination, and he had had no chance of passing History of Magic, given he had collapsed half-way through the exam ...*

**The rest is just the rest of the chapter from ****_An Excess of Phlegm_**** from HBP. **

**(I don't own it, by the way. If I did, I would have had Hermione fail everything just out of spite. Muhahaha!)**

* * *

***This stuff is extracts from The Half-Blood Prince***

*******This is because, after the joining of the two camps, All the Romans got the beaded necklaces from the Camp Half-Blood years since they joined the legion, and all the Greeks got the score marks for however long they'd been at Camp for. In this story, Nico first came to Camp at eight years old, not ten, so he has eight score marks. ****_Comprende_****_? _****_Ce_** **_serait_** **_magnifique_****_. _**

**You know, I thought last chapter was the longest I'd ever written. This one takes the cake now. It's three whole pages longer! Granted, there's far more canon stuff in this one, but I still had to type it out! Really, the only reason this chapter (and several others) are done is because my computer is being weird and not connecting to the internet. Of course, by the time you lot are reading this I'll have actually put this onto a memory stick and uploaded it from a different computer ... That might be a while. Alright, the first people to read this, tell me what date you read it, and then I'll know how long it took me. The date is 05/05/2014 as of finishing this ... I don't remember dates very well ...**


	5. An Unlikely Family Reunion

**Chapter 5 - An Unlikely Family Reunion**

**A.K.A. Draco's Detour**

**I'm not typing the first part of _Draco's Detour._ We're going straight to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for this! (Also, Hermione got that black eye when helping Harry sort out his stuff, just so you know.)**

* * *

*It was packed with customers; Harry could not get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; Harry noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was the most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf.* Suddenly, a melodious and distinctly French-Canadian voice said behind him, "Harry!"

He turned, for he recognised that voice, if only vaguely.

Sure enough, his distant cousin Lacy Evans was standing behind him, her dark red hair pulled up in a fashionably dishevelled ponytail, her dark red lips pulled up in a smile revealing pearly white teeth, wearing shorts and tights, a Hollister shirt and Levis jacket, and looking every bit the professional model she was.

"Lacy!" he said, giving her a hug.

She wrapped her arms around his waist - she only came up to just past his chin, after all.

"What're you doing here?" he continued.

Lacy shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets. "Nico came here for school supplies. Percy was dragged off by Annabeth to the book store and Jason's back home training. I just put Nico through two hours of torture at Twilfitt and Tatting's, so I'm repaying him by coming here." Here she smiled slyly. "Not that I have any objections. Anything Nico gets here is going to be used to make people laugh at Camp. The Stolls know who to prank and who not to, and I'm in the _not_ category, so I'm cool with it."

"Harry, who're you talking to?" Ron's voice came from his left.

"Hey Ron," greeted Harry. ". Lacy, this is my best mate, Ron Weasley. Ron, this is my ... I don't know ... Lacy, what are we?"

Lacy shrugged again. "Some form of cousins."

"Okay then. Ron, this is my something-cousin Lacy Evans."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lacy said smoothly, holding out a pale, long fingered hand and smiling slightly, her green eyes shining maliciously.

Ron took her outstretched hand nervously. Harry didn't blame him: Lacy could look downright evil when she wanted to. Then again, anyone Harry had met from Olympus Military and Combat Camps seemed to be able to scare anyone and everyone they met, if they so felt like it.

_Is that something they learn in school?_ Harry wondered. _How to scare people without really trying?_

"Where's Nico?" Harry asked, just to diffuse the almost palpable tension, despite the fact they were standing next to a large _U-NO-POO_ sign in a joke shop.

"Right here," said a voice to Harry's immediate right.

Harry must've jumped several feet in the air. "GAH! Don't _do_ that!"

Nico di Angelo cracked a smile, slipping his right arm around Lacy's waist. She reached up and smacked him over the head.

"Ow!" Nico pouted. "What was that for?"

"You nearly gave my long-lost cousin a heart attack," she scolded.

Nico smiled again. "Sorry, Harry," he apologised. "But your expression was priceless."

Lacy smiled apologetically. "Yeah, it kinda was, Cuz."

Ron and Hermione - who had recently arrived - looked slightly scared. Harry had to admit, Nico could be intimidating when he wanted to. Right now, in black jeans, black converse, white shirt and black leather jacket and the glint his eyes always had - like he could be a genius or a madman - he looked every bit the ruthless Street Rat he had grown up as.

Harry, un-cowed, but still shocked at his sudden appearance, held out the hand that wasn't keeping his heart in his chest. "Nice to see you again, di Angelo."

"You too, Potter." Nico shook his hand. "Who're your friends?" He nodded his head at Ron and Hermione.

"I suppose you didn't here that part of the conversation, huh?" asked Harry rhetorically. "Well, these are my best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"It's a pleasure," Nico practically murmured, kissing Hermione's hand and shaking Ron's.

They both flinched slightly when their hands made contact with his. Nico's body temperature _was_ slightly lower then average.

Harry was sure that scaring people was something taught at their school.

_Inadvertently, yes_, Nico's voice said in his head.

Outside, Harry showed no reaction to that, except his slightly widened eyes flickered to Nico.

_Dude, get out of my head._

_Just answering your question, Jeez._

Nico smirked at him.

"Come on," Lacy whined, successfully cancelling out any intimidating aura she happened to have had during that conversation, tugging at the sleeve of Nico's jacket. "I want to look at those Patented Daydream Charms. They're a freaking work of genius!"

_They are_, said Jude.

_I think they're stupid_, sniffed Malcolm.

_You don't like anything_, said James.

_Shut up_, Harry told them

"And just for that, milady," said _another_ voice from behind them, "you can have one for free."

*A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.*

_Someone call the fashion police; disaster at Weasley Wizard Wheezes!_ joked Jude.

_Stop making it harder for me to keep a straight face then it already is, Jude_. Harry almost begged.

*"How are you, Harry?" They shook hands. "And what happened to your eye, Hermione?"

"Your punching telescope," she said ruefully.

"Oh, blimey, I forgot about those," said Fred. "Here -"

He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.*

"What _is_ that?" Nico asked curiously. "Like, anti-bruise cream? We have some of that stuff back at Camp, but it's not bright yellow."

"It's specially formulated for a bruise made by the punching telescope," Fred explained. "It works on other things as well, of course, but that was it's original purpose."

Nico shook his head disbelievingly. "I need to introduce you to the Stoll brothers," he said, more to himself then anyone else.

"Oh no!" Lacy said, horrified. "Two of them is almost too much. Three? That would be -"

"Awesome?" Nico supplied. "Wicked? Hilarious?"

Lacy glared at him, hands on her slender hips. "A disaster," she corrected.

"I disagree."

"Yeah, but you're almost as bad as the Stolls. I'm going to be thankful Percy has an obligation as Emperor to stay out of this because Zeus knows what would happen then ... Oh no. I've given you and idea, haven't I?"

Nico smiled slyly. "Maybe."

"NICHOLAS THOMAS MARVOLO DI ANGELO IF YOU GET PERCY INVOLVED IN WHATEVER CRAZY STUNT YOU AND THE STOLLS PULL NEXT ...!"

Nico held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry Lacy. Not gonna happen. I swear."

"It better not," she said threateningly.

_Ooh, _winced Jude, _dat's cowld._

_Shut it._

The others had their mouths open. Evidently they didn't think Nico was the type to be cowed by an angry girlfriend. Harry, on the other hand, was on a different track.

"Your full first name is Nicholas?" he asked disbelievingly, lips twitching upwards.

Nico winced. "Yeah."

Harry burst into laughter.

"It's not that funny," grumbled Nico, glaring sharply at him.

"Is too!"

"Is not!

"I refuse to get into this. This is going to be football vs. baseball all over again."

"You just don't like that I used unbeatable logic."

"It was childish logic."

If you are wondering, the football vs. baseball debate was settled when Harry said "is" and Nico added "not". "Is not". Get it?

"There's a difference?"

"And there's the sarcasm."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I know how unbearable it must have been for you."

"Alright then," interjected Lacy, grabbing Nico by his sleeve. "It was nice seeing you again, Harry. We'd better go or Annabeth'll murder us. It was nice meeting you Ron, Hermione, other person who's name I don't know. Bye!" And with that, she left the shop, dragging Nico along with her.

Fred grinned. "I like your friend there, Harry. He seems like a fellow mischief maker."

"You have no idea," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "His cousin never got any rest."

"He _just_ pranks his cousin?"

_Oh hell no!_ Jude and James said in sync.

"Nah, but he, his brother and his cousin were staying near me over the summer. The rest of his family were in America, so his cousin was the only one he could prank."

"Why didn't he prank his brother?"

"His brother was helping him. It would be a bit like if you pranked George."

Fred looked thoughtful. "Ah. I get it."

"Is this stuff _safe_?" Hermione said nervously, waving the forgotten pot of yellow paste.

*"Course it is," said Fred bracingly. "Come on, Harry, I'll give you a tour."*

**The rest of the tour can be found on pages 115-118 of HBP.**

Harry, Ron and Hermione momentarily had an unimpeded view out of the window Nico and Lacy were leaning against an abandoned shop with boarded up windows, talking and laughing. *Draco Malfoy was hurrying up the street alone. As he passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and they lost sight of him.

"Wonder where his mummy is?" said Harry, frowning.

"Given her the slip by the looks of it," said Ron.

"Why, though?" said Hermione.*

Unknown to all except him, Nico di Angelo had seen Draco pass along the street and was tracking him himself.

Meanwhile, Harry was pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. "Get under here, quick."

*Oh - I don't know, Harry," said Hermione, looking uncertainly towards Mrs Weasley.

"Come _on_!" said Ron.*

They followed Malfoy, but were unaware that they were being followed themselves. As soon as they were out of sight of anyone from Diagon Alley, something plucked the Invisibility Cloak off of them.

Harry looked around, only to find a smirking Nico di Angelo holding his Cloak, Lacy a few steps behind.

"If you don't want to be noticed," he said, "you may want to be quieter. Get organised, then follow."

"What do you know about all this?" Ron demanded angrily.

Nico's eyes flashed angrily. "I'm one of the best spies the USIC has ever had. When it comes to being unnoticed, I'm as good as it gets." He threw the Cloak at Harry's feet. "If I were you, I wouldn't even use that." He nodded at the Cloak. "Disguise yourselves. That way you can act completely natural."

"How're we meant to disguise ourselves?" Hermione said.

Nico's eyes flashed again. "Lesson one: when discussing private matters, make sure they are indeed private. I've overheard so many important conversations just because someone can't be bothered to put up a privacy ward it's ridiculous. Be thankful I've already put one up.

"Lesson two: don't do outside your limits. Three fairly tall people under one average-sized Invisibility Cloak? Not gonna happen. Think of a different way."

"What other ways are there?" asked Harry.

Nico flicked his wrist. Harry had the weirdest feeling of his face of his face being melted and then reshaped, but without the heat or pain.

Nico conjured a mirror. Hermione now had her hair in a short blonde bob. Her eyes were bright blue and she was an inch or so taller. She looked to be maybe twenty five. Ron had brown hair streaked with grey, close set brown eyes, and was practically diminutive. He looked to be forty or fifty.

Harry looked remarkably similar to how he really was. He had the same general facial structure, and looked to still be around sixteen, but had steely grey eyes, messy honey-blond hair and tanned skin.

"There," Nico said. "Plan B. It'll wear off in an hour. You might want to be done by then."

"We've lost him now," Harry said sadly.

"No, you haven't. I noticed he looked shifty too, you know. Follow." He ghosted silently along the cracked cobblestone of Knockturn Alley, almost melting into any shadows, his metal leg not even making a _clunk_ noise like usual. Lacy followed just as silently, changing her features to non-descript brown hair and pale green eyes. She grew a little as well.

The trio followed, not nearly as silently, but well enough for first-timers.

The other two were so good at being unnoticed that the Gryffindor trio nearly bumped into them when they stopped.

Suddenly Harry felt unbearably cold, and heard a myriad of voices whispering strange words into the back of his mind. Shivers worked their way up his spine. I mean, he was used to voices in his head, but at least he could understand them ... most of the time, anyway. They could be pretty erratic when they wanted to be.

Draco Malfoy passed them a few seconds later. He didn't look to have noticed them. He walked into the only shop in Knockturn Alley Harry had ever been to, and the one they were standing in the shadow of right now: Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects.

*There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Malfoy and his father.* Harry heard Nico mutter something under his breath, but he couldn't make it out. Probably saying how the shop looked really cool.

*"If only we could hear what they're saying!" Hermione said.*

Nico and Lacy shushed her.

"What's your problem?" demanded Hermione.

"We're trying to hear what they're saying," Lacy hissed.

"How can you do that?" she asked.

"Shut up!" Nico whisper-shouted. "Here, use this." He handed three long, flesh coloured strings to Ron, who unravelled them and began to feed them under the door.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something but held herself back.

'_For once_,' Harry thought maliciously, only to instantly regret it. He grabbed the string Ron gave him and listened closely.

_Good,_ said Malcolm approvingly. _Get all the info you can._

_For once, we agree on something_, said James.

From the end of the string, Malfoy's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had just been turned on.

*" ... you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Malfoy. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" said Malfoy and Harry knew, just by his tone, that Malfoy was sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."

He moved towards Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," said Malfoy, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend, he'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for -"

"I'll decide that," said Malfoy. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep _that_ one safe, I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not ... sir."

Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself.*

Harry felt the cold, piercing feeling come over him again as Malfoy passed so close to them Harry felt the hem of his cloak brush his knee.

*Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.

"What was that about?" whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

"Dunno," said Harry, thinking hard. "He wants something mended ... and he wants to reserve something in there ... could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, he was behind the cabinet -"

"You lot stay here," whispered Hermione.*

"Oh no you don't Granger," hissed Nico, grasping her shoulder. "You'll blotch it. I know what you're about to do, and you won't go around it the right way. You're too nice."

"_Too nice_," said Hermione incredulously. "What's that supposed to -"

But Nico wasn't listening. He walked inside the shop, as silent as when he walked down the street. Harry had trouble focusing on his form. It seemed to flicker into the shadows, before flickering out again. He didn't seem to be _walking_ either. It was ... darker. He seemed to float eerily, his shoes padding against the stones quickly and silently like ... like ... like Voldemort had.

The tinkle of the bell seemed to change tone as Nico walked in. It was muffled, scarier. Suddenly, Nico was holding a stick. No, not a stick. A wand. 13, 13 and 1/2 inches long, maybe. Yew and poplar.

Borgin walked out, oily smile back on his face, only to be met by a pretty damn terrifying sight.

Ron unravelled the Extendable Ears again, but Nico's voice was so quiet, so threatening, they could still barely make it out.

His expression was calm - cheerful, even. His head was tilted slightly to the left, his lips turned up at the corners and his dark slanting eyes were wider then they usually were. But it was very obviously threatening. The insane glint his eyes always had was far more prominent, the rest of his body was poised to go into fighting stance at the slightest catalyst, his pale, slender fingers were twirling his wand and his face was cold. Terror seemed to roll off of him in waves

Borgin started to tremble.

"Hate for ... dead in his own shop ... beg for death ... wouldn't want that, would we?" Nico said, still smiling. His voice was about just loud enough for Borgin to hear, let alone the four teenagers outside. As it was, they only heard fragments of it.

"N-no sir," stuttered Borgin quietly.

"No we wouldn't," agreed Nico in a faux-sympathetic tone, as though Borgin were two years old. Abruptly, he turned on his heels and stalked towards a glass-fronted case. "May I be so bold as to ask what this is?" he said, slightly louder.

"A- a necklace, sir."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Y- yes sir."

The glass shattered, and Nico went to pick up the necklace.

"I wouldn't do that if I- oh."

Nico was holding an ornate opal necklace in between the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "As touching as your concern is," he practically purred, so quietly Harry had to lean in to hear it, even with the Extendable Ears, "I'm immune to most death curses. It's ... hereditary."

"Hereditary?" Harry mouthed to Ron and Hermione.

"Death curse?" Ron mouthed back.

"Immune?" mouthed Hermione

Lacy merely rolled her eyes and gestured for them to keep listening.

"S- sorry sir," stuttered Borgin again.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Nico said pleasantly, eyeing the necklace. "May I ask where you got it?"

"B- Burkes got it," said Borgin. "One of the last purchases he ever made. I-I n-never thought to ask where he got it from."

"Interesting," Nico said, almost to himself. He slipped the necklace into his pocket. "I think I'll keep this."

Borgin looked like he was about to object but thought better of it. Then decided to object again. He puffed out his chest. "I'm under strict orders not to sell it, sir," he said. "I'm very sorry."

Nico's voice went back to almost a whisper. "Although whether you'll be around to just stop anyone taking it before the person who you've reserved it for comes to claim it is coming into debateable territory right now. Choose wisely, Mr Borgin. It would be such a ... _shame_ if Borgin and Burkes were to loose its only remaining founding member."

"But Fenrir Greyback -"

Nico smiled sweetly and his eyes gleamed again. "Greyback, hmm? He should be the least of your worries right now, Mr Borgin. You treading on thin ice right now, sir. One false step and you go plummeting into the icy waters beneath you. And believe me, it's _not_ nice water."

The fleeting courage seemed to have left Borgin, and he cowered again.

"Are we in agreement Mr Borgin?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He glided out of the shop without another word.

"That was bloody terrifying," said Ron as soon as they were out of earshot of the shop.

"It was wrong," Hermione contradicted. "Why would you do that? He -"

"Could have caused someone to die," interrupted Nico. "This," he gestured to his pocket were the necklace lay, "is cursed. Anyone who touches it will die, immediately if the hold it like I did, or slowly and painfully if they skim it. If gotten to an expert immediately, they may live, but it'd be fifty/fifty. Who knows what kind of damage Malfoy could do with it? He could even give it to Tom Riddle!"

Hermione didn't concede. "It still wasn't right what you did. You could have given him a heart attack!"

Her face was just as stern as it normally was; the spell Nico had put on them all to disguise them had finally worn off.

_God damn it woman, shut up!_ screeched Saul, the usual silent, rather volatile voice.

Nico and Lacy just laughed, though. "Did you see his face?" snickered Lacy in what Harry had dubbed her "gossip voice".

"He looked like he was gonna piss himself!" laughed Nico maliciously.

"What's going on here?" asked another voice.

Standing before them was a heavily pregnant woman, around twenty years old. She had honey blonde hair that curled like a princess's down her back and stormy grey eyes. She was holding hands with a boy who looked to be three or four. Maybe five. The boy had her eyes, her lips and her ears. His hair was dark and messy, though, and his face was rougher and more angular, if obscured by puppy fat.

"Hey Annabeth," Nico said. "Where's Percy?"

"In the store," she said, jerking her head towards the apothecary. "Now, answer my question: what's going on here?"

Wordlessly, Nico handed her the necklace.

"Pretty," said the little boy, reaching up for it. "Can I have it, Mommy? Please?"

Even though there was no way he was older then five, he was surprisingly eloquent. He didn't lisp, every word was pronounced perfectly, and he had manners, which was surprising.

"No, Theo, don't touch," said Annabeth. "Go say hello to Uncle Nico." She pointed at Nico.

Theo looked around and found Nico. "Uncle Nico!"

"Hey Little Man," Nico said, kneeling down. "Do I get a hug?"

Theo toddled over and latched his tiny arms around Nico's neck. Nico picked him up and bounced him in his arms.

"You're good with kids," noted Hermione.

Nico shrugged. "I s'ppose. I'm always called to babysit this little rascal here so I just kind of adapted to it. Stop pulling my hair, Theo!"

Theo giggled and clapped his hands.

Nico narrowed his eyes.

"Oh is that how we're playing, then?" he said quietly, jokingly.

Theo nodded, still giggling.

Nico threw Theo in the air and caught him again by his ankles so that he was upside-down.

Theo squealed.

"Lemme down!" he demanded.

"Never!" cackled Nico.

"Please?"

Nico wordlessly flipped him so he was the right way up, but didn't let him touch the floor.

"Lemme down!"

"Say 'please'."

"Please."

He still wasn't put down.

"I said please!"

"So?"

"So now you put me down."

"Why should I?"

"'Cause I said 'please'."

"Hmm," Nico said, "I think ... no."

"Don't like you anymore," stropped Theo.

"What about if I tickled you?"

Theo's eye widened comically. "No don't -!"

But it was too late.

Soon, Theo was in a giggling fit and Annabeth showed no signs of intervening. When Nico finally stopped and Theo's giggles died down, he pouted again. "Still don't like you."

"Who don't you like?" said someone else.

That someone had the same high, sharp cheekbones as Theo, the same messy black hair, the same straight nose and general face shape. From that, most people would conclude, and rightly so, that this man was the boy's father.

"Daddy!" Theo squealed again, holding out his hands.

"Hey Little Man," said Percy Jackson, picking up his son. "Hey Harry," he added, seeing afore mentioned person.

"Hey Percy," said Harry. "How're you doing."

"Not bad," replied Percy. "But this little guy," he bounced Theo in his arms, "is driving me up the wall."

Theo giggled.

Hermione's jaw had dropped.

"Something wrong, milady?" Percy said in that scarily polite voice everyone from Camp seemed to greet new people with.

"You're Percy Jackson!" gasped Hermione.

Percy sighed. "The anonymity was nice while it lasted."

Nico patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I know how you feel."

Percy nodded and sighed, bouncing Theo in his arms again.

Theo giggled again.

"Big word for you there, Hun," Annabeth said, looking up from the necklace.

Percy frowned. "What's that?" he said, nodding at the necklace.

"Cursed necklace," said Nico. "Any normal Mortal who touches it'll die immediately."

Percy held open his hand. "May I?"

Annabeth handed him the necklace, taking Theo off him in the process.

Percy eyes widened as he turned the necklace around in his hands.

"Jeez ... the Black magic in this is almost fucking _tangible_. OW! What was that for?" he complained, glaring at Annabeth, who had hit him over the head.

"No swearing in front of the children," she scolded.

"At least I'm not as bad as Nico," Percy said optimistically.

"Oi!" complained Nico.

"It's true, man," Harry said. "You swear more then anyone else I know, and I know a lot of people."

Nico gave him a rude hand gesture similar to the one Ron had given the twins before.

"Nico!" Annabeth scolded, slapping him upside the head.

"Sorry, Sis."

"No, you're not."

Nico didn't reply. Maybe because it was true; maybe because he didn't want to anger her any more; probably both.

Percy sighed, putting Theo back on the ground. "We should get going. I've got to meet Coach Davis in," he checked his watch, "half an hour."

Nico nodded, holding Lacy's hand. "Alright then. Lacy, you got anywhere you need to be?"

Lacy checked her watch as well. "I've got to be in San Fran in two hours for a photo shoot, but, apart from that, no."

Nico nodded again.

"Come on!" Percy called over his shoulder to them, already half-way back up Diagon Alley. "Hurry up!"

"Nice seeing you again, Harry!" Nico called to them, setting off at a run.

"Yeah, and it was nice meeting your friends!" added Lacy, hot on her boyfriend's heels. "See ya!"

"Bye!" yelled Harry.

* * *

Back at the Burrow

"I don't trust him," Ron said later on that day.

"Neither do I," said Hermione.

"Why?" Harry asked. "What's he ever done to you?"

"He nearly gave Borgin a heart attack!" screeched Hermione.

"Borgin was trying to sell Malfoy a cursed necklace," Harry reminded them. "You heard them - it should have killed anyone who touched it. They just had some lucky trick of genetics that made them immune. We should be thanking them for getting it out of the hands of anyone who would use it for ... less savoury means."

"He still didn't go about it in the right way," Hermione said stubbornly.

"And how _are_ they immune?" Ron contributed. "They could be using Dark magic to make themselves immune!"

"Even if you're right Ron," said Harry, ignoring Hermione, "_Dark_ does not mean _evil_, same as _Slytherin_ does not mean _junior Death Eater_. Besides, I'm more worried about Malfoy. Why would he want a cursed necklace?"

The two other teenagers shrugged, but Harry didn't notice. His mind was whirling far too fast to pay attention to anything else.

If this was a cartoon, a light bulb would have lit over his head just then.

That explained it!

Malfoy was a Death Eater.

Harry didn't say anything, though. Ron and Hermione would say it was stupid and that he didn't have any proof. For now, that was true. He wouldn't tell them without a perfectly formed, airtight case, but for now ...

He had evidence to gather.

* * *

***Extracts from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince*.**


	6. An Interesting Development

**Chapter 6 - An Interesting Development  
****A.K.A The Slug Club**

**Merry Christmas! Or Hanukkah! Or whatever it is you celebrate! He's an early pressie for you all (or a late birthday present, if you're Hazel Levesque. Or even a birthday present for you, if it's today). :) Bit of a filler, but necessary, I suppose.**

* * *

True to his word, Nico met Harry at Kings Cross at exactly 10:58 on September 1st. Percy, Annabeth and Theo were fussing over him - or rather, Annabeth and Percy were. Theo just looked around in fascination.

"Are you _sure_ you've got everything?"

"Yes, Percy, I'm sure."

"Have you got all your school books?"

"Yes, Annabeth. You checked several times, remember?"

"You got your sword?"

"Which one?"

"Both of them, Nico. And stop making everything into an innuendo."

"Just messing with ya, Perce. And yeah, got both of 'em."

"Have you got your wand?"

"Yes, Annabeth. I do. Unlike Percy, I don't just lose it, even if it is just a stick."

"It's a _magic_ stick, Nico. Honestly."

"I know, Annabeth. Now, if you don't mind, the train's gonna leave soon. I'd better go."

"Alright. Have fun Nico!"

"Learn lots!"

"Remember to write!"

"Bring me sweets!"

The last one was Theo.

"I'll try, I doubt it, I will, and maybe. Depends if you're a good boy, Theo."

Theo nodded so fast his head looked like it was going to fall off. "I'm always a good boy!"

"Mm." Nico didn't sound convinced.

Percy gave Nico a quick hug. Annabeth and Theo quickly followed suit.

"Love you Nico," they chorused.

"Love you too, guys. Bye!"

"Bye!"

With that, Nico followed Harry onto the train.

"Sweet family moment there, Nicks," said Harry, smiling.

"What? I'm not allowed to tell my family I love them? And don't call me that."

"Whatever you say _Nicholas_."

"Don't call me that, either."

"Why not?"

"My father named me Nicholas."

"Oh."

By now, Harry had learnt that anything connected to Nico's father was bad in his books. From the little Nico had told him, Harry knew that Nico's father was a - British; b - a Hogwarts alumni and c - former Head Boy. This, of course, meant that Nico hated Hogwarts on principle.

He curled his lip in distaste as he stood on the Hogwarts Express.

"A steam train," he muttered. "It couldn't be a high-speed railway, could it? No, they just _had_ to keep polluting the environment and make the journey even _more_ lengthily and tedious."

Harry sent him a look. It didn't rival that of Annabeth or Percy in any way, but it worked well enough on most people. Nico, however, was not _most people_.

He rolled his eyes and continued to mutter about the evils of steam trains and wizard-kind under his breath.

*"Now, dear, you're coming to us for Christmas, it's all fixed with Dumbledore, so we'll see you quite soon," said Mrs Weasley through the window, as Harry slammed the door shut behind him and the train began to move. "You make sure to look after yourself and -"

The train was gathering speed.

"- be good and -"

She was jogging to keep up now.

"- stay safe!"

Harry waved until the train had turned a corner and Mr and Mrs Weasley were lost from view, then turned to see where the others had got to.*

Nico was standing a little further in, evidently waiting for him. He was attracting a lot of stares.

Harry wasn't surprised. As soon as you were a Third Year, you began to recognise all the upper years, if not by name. Nico was easily tall enough to be a Seventh Year, and the dark tone of his clothes, that usually allowed him to blend in well enough in the Muggle world, made him stick out like a sore thumb in the world of flamboyant and brightly coloured robes.

He walked the short distance towards him, but it seemed like miles.

*People stared at him shamelessly as he approached. They even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at him. He had expected the upswing in the amount of gaping and gawping he would have to endure this term after all the 'Chosen One' rumours in the _Daily Prophet_, but he did not enjoy the sensation of standing in a very bright spotlight.*

He tapped Nico on the shoulder.

"Fancy trying to find a compartment?"

"Sure," said Nico. "_Allez-vous on__._"

Harry frowned as they walked. "Since when did you speak French?"

"Since eight years ago. Since I spoke Latin, Greek, Italian, Mandarin and Spanish. Why do you ask?"

"Just didn't know you knew French."

"Well I do. Kids from Cabin Ten always speak it, and, since Lacy and Piper are from Cabin Ten, you just kind of pick it up."

He knew Nico spoke Latin and Greek. He, Jason and Percy had taught him a bit over the summer, and he knew Nico was Italian, so obviously he'd speak it, but he hadn't known about the others.

Nico muttered something in Greek that Harry couldn't hear. It sounded vaguely like one of the many Greek and Latin curse words Jason had let loose when he'd accidently placed his hand on a hot stove.

They had mockingly reprimanded him for his language before bandaging his hand.

Then he blinked and looked around: he was surrounded my mesmerised girls.

Nico grasped his shoulder. It wasn't a particularly painful grip, but Harry wouldn't be able to move that shoulder a millimetre.

"Come on Harry," he muttered. "Let's go find some of your friends."

*"Hi Harry!" said a familiar voice from behind him.

"Neville!" said Harry in relief*. Nico let go of his shoulder and seemed to melt into the shadows, as he always seemed to do around large crowds. Harry guessed that spies didn't generally like large crowds that much. Or maybe it was just Nico being antisocial. Probably both.

*He turned to see a round-faced boy struggling towards him.

"Hello, Harry," said a girl with long hair and large, misty eyes, who was directly behind Neville.

"Luna, hi, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you," said Luna. She was clutching a magazine to her chest; large letter son the front announced that there was a free pair of Spectrespecs inside.

"_The Quibbler_ still going strong then?" asked Harry, who felt a certain fondness for the magazine, having given it an exclusive interview the previous year.

"Oh yes, circulation's well up," said Luna happily.*

Someone coughed behind them. "Well, Harry, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" said Nico silkily in a rather good, if inadvertent, impression of Severus Snape.

"Oh yeah," said Harry, slightly embarrassed at having forgotten his friend so quickly. "Nico, this is Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. I'm sure you can tell who is who. Luna, Neville, this is Nico di Angelo. He's an exchange student from Olympus Military and Combat Camps from the States this year."

"A pleasure," said Nico, kissing the back of Luna's hand and shaking Neville's.

Luna looked to have no problems with this, but Neville's eyes narrowed a little.

"Di Angelo? As in, the Italian Ancient and Most Noble House di Angelo? The one that had several of its members thrown in Azkaban for supporting You-Know-Who? The one's that claimed to be descended from -"

"Salazar Slytherin, yes," said Nico, his whole demeanour changing in just those few sentences. His face closed off even more, his lips barely moved as he spoke and his shoulders hunched slightly. "Most unfortunately so."

Neville's eyes narrowed even more. Nico's weren't meeting anyone else's. The tension could be cut with a butter knife.

Harry knew this, of course. Nico had told him about that about a week before Harry left to go to the Weasleys'. Percy explained that one of the di Angelo family squibs married a Muggle, and that the Jackson family could be traced back from there. That was why both he and Nico could speak Parseltongue.

"Let's find seats," he said, just to break the uncomfortable silence, and the four set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. When they at last found an empty compartment, Harry hurried inside it gratefully.

*"They're even staring at _us_," said Neville, indicating to himself and Luna, "because we're with you!"*

"Or maybe because you were both at the Ministry too," said a new voice, "or because you have an incredibly good-looking exchange student whom no-one has ever seen before with you. Or a multitude of them all."

In the doorway of their compartment stood a tall girl with one blue, one hazel eye, golden brown hair that curled loosely down her back and an expression that was an odd yet nice blend of understanding and _mess-with-me-and-I'll-hex-you_. Harry recognised her vaguely as the new Head Girl, Saphira McBride, from Ravenclaw.

"Saphira McBride," she introduced herself lazily. "I merely came to tell you, Potter, that you may want to put up some kind of ward on the door. After your little ... episode at the Ministry, you'll have a rather horrid combination of over-excitable well-wishers, homicidal wannabe-Death Eaters, and obsessed fangirls, all coming to gawk at little old you. If you're expecting more people joining you, you'll need to key them into it or they won't be able to come in, but you'll thank me for it later."

"Why'd you come?" asked Harry curiously. As far as he knew, he'd never even spoken to Saphira McBride. The only reason he knew her was because Ron and Hermione had described all fellow prefects to him last year, when McBride was still just a prefect.

"I'm Head Girl, Potter," she said. "It's my job to make sure everyone's safe. And you being dosed with love potions, or murdered, or snapping and hexing some poor other student does not count as _safe_ in my books."

Harry blinked. "Alright. Thank you for your advice."

"No problem," she said, stepping out of the compartment. Then, on an afterthought, she stepped back and said: "If you need someone to put up the ward for you, I'm in the prefects carriage, which I'll assume you know the location of, and there's also a Slytherin girl named Cassiopeia who may help. _Adios_."

With that, she glided out of the compartment.

Neville turned to Nico immediately. "So your which di Angelo was you father?"

Nico stared at the floor. "My mother."

"Then what was your father's surname and why didn't you take it?"

Nico stared at the floor and shut his mouth with a barely audible _click._

"Hey Neville," said Harry quickly, "can I talk to you? Outside?"

Neville looked confused. "What's the matter with in here?"

"_Now_." Harry practically dragged Neville out of the compartment.

They quickly reached the back of the train. A few fourth-years - a mix of Slytherins and Ravenclaws by the looks of things - sat in the end compartment. They took one look at them and went back to their conversation.

Harry turned and looked at Neville.

"What?" asked Neville.

"What was that for?" Harry snapped.

"What was what for?"

"You could fucking _see_ Nico wasn't comfortable talking about his family, but did you stop? No!"

"I didn't -"

"Notice? Think? Care? Well you should've! How would you feel if Nico started talking about your parents, huh? Would you be very happy about it?"

"No," said Neville in a small voice. Then he looked up with wide eyes. "Is that what happened to Nico's parents? Were they ..."

Harry shook his head. "It's more ..." He hesitated. "Look, it's not my place to say. Nico will tell you if he wants you to know. If you ask Nico about his mother, he may talk. A little. As soon as his father comes into it though ... Run as fast as you can as far as you can in the other direction. He'll explode."

Neville nodded. "Okay. But, Harry?"

"Yeah Nev?"

"You _do_ know about his family, right?"

"About most of them being Dark? About several of them being Death Eaters? About them being practically wiped out after the Lord's eldest daughter Maria was murdered and her children presumed dead? About them being descended from Salazar Slytherin? Yes, Neville. I do. Nico told me."

Neville nodded. "Alright. Just wanted you to know what you were getting yourself into."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, mate. Now come on. Let's get back to the compartment."

"So how do I go about apologising?" Neville asked.

Harry thought for a moment. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't apologize," he elaborated. "Just go in and act liked nothing happened. He won't forget, and he's not going to forgive either, even if you do apologize."

Neville nodded again.

Just as they were turning, Neville asked, "Do you know who Nico's dad is, Harry?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He had given the matter a fair bit of thought, but could only come to one logical conclusion, which wasn't exactly _pleasant_. For, should his suspicions be proved correct, he could completely sympathise with Nico wanting to hide his father's identity.

"I have an idea," he said slowly. "But it doesn't matter who Nico's dad is. Nico doesn't mention him because people will judge him on it. Humans have a bad habit of judging people on what their parents or siblings did. For now, it's not bad for Nico. He had high standards proposed to him 'cause his family is a bunch of millionaires, and rose to that standard pretty well. But if the world knew who his father was ... I don't think it'd be pretty."

Neville nodded yet again and said no more.

They got back into the compartment to find Nico and Luna engaged in a conversation. Probably about something completely loony.

"You can't overthrow the Ministry with gum disease. Cancer on the other hand ..."

"Ah, but that's what they _want_ you to think ..."

"Nico, Luna," greeted Harry. "What're you talking about?"

"The Rotfang Conspiracy," they both answered.

"What about it?" said Neville.

"She," Nico pointed at Luna, "thinks that the organisers of the Rotfang Conspiracy should enlist the help of dentists. I think they should enlist the help of doctors. That way they have disease on their hands."

"Ah, yes, but everyone _thinks_ they would do that. They have to be unpredictable."

"Yeah, but with the diseases on their side, they can alter them, creating _new_ diseases, such as modified gum disease, and therefore are unpredictable."

"But what if -"

"Alright!" Harry said. "You two are giving me a headache. Let's go onto simpler matters: how's your summer been, Neville?"

"Great!" said Neville. "I thought Gran would be angry about all the publicity the DoM fiasco got, but she was really pleased. Says I'm starting to live up to my dad at long last. She brought me a new wand, look!" he said, waving it around.

"May I see it?" Nico asked. "I took Wand Lore until my O. That was ... oh, three years ago now."

Neville looked confused. "But we only took our O. W. Ls last year! And Wand Lore wasn't even an option!"

"We do things differently in America," said Nico. "You take your O. W. Ls and N. E. W. Ts whenever your instructor thinks you're ready. I took my O. W. Ls at thirteen and N. E. W. Ts at fourteen. I got straight As. Or Os, for you."

"And the whole Wand Lore thing?"

"My school's a combat school," explained Nico. "We have a different core curriculum. You have ... what, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts? We have Fencing, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Fitness Training - that involves things like running five time round Camp, then going up the lava wall, and sparring with someone, and sprinting once around Camp again - Ancient Runes and then just training with whatever powers you happen to have. We don't have 'houses', exactly, and we aren't divided by personalities, although it sometimes comes into it."

"What are you divided by, then?" asked Harry.

"Powers. You get claimed at thirteen at the latest; possibly earlier. I was claimed at eight, my brother at twelve, my sister-in-law at seven - it varies. There are ... I don't know exactly how many cabins there are. Some are really prominent and powerful - Cabin One, Three and Thirteen are probably the best examples. They're called 'The Big Three' for a reason. The other pretty powerful ones are Cabins One to Twelve. The others are more ... minor, I suppose."

"Why do you get 'claimed'?" said Neville.

"We aren't 'Wizards' exactly. We don't get a wand until we've passed our N.E. , and we're hunted. Not by people, but by monsters. Places like Camp are the only safe places for us. The wards are so strong, nothing can get in without expressed permission from the Emperor - he's like the Headmaster, but for all the Camps, and he holds absolute power over everyone and everything. It's pretty extreme; he orders you to fall on your sword, you fall on you sword, no question. Luckily, our Emperor's great. Sarcastic and a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but about as good as you can get with rulers. Anyway, things can get in temporarily on orders by anyone else if it's an emergency. That's why we train so much in physical combat, because spells don't work against monsters."

"That's so cool," said Harry, slightly reverently.

"'The Big Three'," pondered Neville. "Sounds like something in Greek Mythology ..."

Nico nodded. "The Greeks were right about a lot of things," he said. "The monsters; the quests the heroes took. In fact, take out all the things about the gods and Titans and Primordials, I can verify that it's fact. The whole 'demigod' thing was like a cover story; something the Greeks could accept. Cabin One were children of Zeus, Cabin Two were children of Hera - because Hera never had kids with anyone but Zeus, and Cabin Two is always empty - Cabin Three were children of Poseidon, Four was Demeter, Five was Ares, Six was Athena, Seven was Apollo, Eight was Artemis, Nine was Hephaestus, Ten was Aphrodite, Eleven was Hermes, Twelve was Dionysus, and Thirteen was Hades. As you can see, One, Three and Thirteen were like children of the 'Big Three' gods - the sons of Kronos. Until quite recently, there was a feud between those three cabins. It was so long-running next to no-one knew what it was about, and the ones who did weren't telling. Then Percy, Jason, Thalia, Hazel and I came along, became best buddies and shit, and now there's no problem."

"Wait," Harry said, "who's in which Cabin?"

"There are a lot of us," Nico said. "I couldn't name everyone. Plus there are more then 13 cabins. There are lots of cabins dedicated to things like revenge - the goddess Nemesis - or sleep - the god Hypnos - and stuff like that. There's even a cabin for magic. You lot would fit right in."

"Yeah, but, like, people I know."

"Okay, um ... Jason and Thalia were born with powers from Cabin One, but Thalia joined this group that stays in Cabin Eight when they come to Camp - a bunch of immortal teenage girls that have sworn off boys for eternity. Like I said, there isn't anyone in Cabin Two. Cabin Three has Percy, and Theo because he's a legacy -"

"A what?" interrupted Neville.

"A legacy," Nico explained. "There are some people just born with these talents, randomly. People like me, Percy and Jason. Others inherit it - Frank's great-great-great something-or-other grandfather was in Cabin Three. He got shape-shifting powers. He's also directly in Cabin Five, so he's naturally good in battle and a half-decent strategist. Theo's father is in Cabin Three - in fact, Theo's dad is quite possibly the most powerful one of us alive. His mother is from Cabin Six. Theo is therefore a legacy of both Three and Six. It's confusing, but if I were showing someone new around Camp, I'd have examples to give them. There are more legacies here, though. Maybe because it's magical, so kids can pass themselves off as Wizards and not get in trouble with Monsters. By all rights, there should be about double the amount of us we know of, but the fact remains that at least half of us die before we reach thirteen. Three quarters of the remainder die before they reach thirty, and the rest are just picked off like flies between the ages of thirty and fifty. The oldest one of us died at 69, which we found hilarious, and they were in the cabin dedicated to longevity. Talk about irony, huh?"

Harry felt slightly overwhelmed. Sure, Nico had told him about Camp - about some of the people, about what it looked like, the core curriculum - but about the lifestyle? Not so much. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread. He had a good chance of dying in the near future, thanks to the God damn prophecy, but the thought that there were lots of kids out there, dying before they became teenagers ... It was sickening.

Then the fact that most wouldn't live past thirty ... He remembered celebrating Annabeth's 21st birthday, back at Privet Drive ... the way Jason had said 'and a better year to come' with a grim smile ... they probably knew none of them had much time left.

Talk about morbid.

Evidently Neville thought the same thing, for he quickly changed to what seemed like a much more pleasant subject. "What does Camp look like?"

Nico smiled again and half-shrugged. "I've got a couple pictures. They're hand drawn, because most of us don't get along with technology unless you're in Cabin Nine - our powers make them go haywire - but I'm not bad at sketching. Just let me find it and then I'll show you."

'Not bad' was definitely an understatement. The sketches were amazing, even if they were black and white.

"That's The New Empire; the local town," said Nico, pointing to a page of the notebook.

It was one of those picturesque little towns that everyone wanted to live in but didn't really seem to exist, with neat rows of large, two-story houses bordered by stone walls. The gardens were large and spacious with swing sets and trampolines, flowers and trees. The main square in the distance showed a bakery, flower shop, GP and dentist, and a few restaurants. The weirdest thing was that the one coffee merchant had two heads.

"Most of us don't want to leave Camp when we're older," continued Nico, "so each Camp - there are three in the States: Camp Half-Blood, mostly Greek, Camp Jupiter, mostly Roman, and Camp Unity, somewhere in the middle - has a town nearby, under the same wards. The New Empire is the biggest one, but it's not huge, as you can see. The main religion back home is the one of old Greek and Roman gods, so if you want a nice walk, you just go to the gardens of Bacchus and Dionysus - that one -"

He turned the page of his notebook. Even the simple sketch took Harry's breath away. Vines crept up the bars of the white-painted iron gate, trees towered high above and the sun sparkled along a small pond. Harry could almost smell fresh-pressed grapes.

"- or the gardens of Demeter and Ceres - this one."

This one was just as beautiful, but in a different way. It had a single huge oak tree, smack-bang in the middle of a huge meadow filled with strawberries, lavender, raspberries, jasmine and so many other plants Harry didn't know the name of.

"Which is your favourite garden?" asked Luna.

Harry jumped, having forgotten she was there, she had been so quiet.

"The gardens of Persephone, or Proserpina," replied Nico. "It's not all that impressive in the day, but at night it's beautiful."

"Do you have a sketch of it?" said Neville.

Nico nodded again. He flipped to another page. "This one."

Harry could definitely see why it would be Nico's favourite. There were no actual plants but for a tall pomegranate tree, and a drooping pine. The bushes that bordered it looked to be spun of fine gold thread, with small fairies that glowed with a faint silver light flitting between miniature rubies that flowered out of the gold. They were the only source of light in the garden, as this was very obviously sketched at night, and the light reflected off of the small silver statue of a beautiful young lady with onyx eyes.

It wasn't the only statue, though. Several others of mythical creatures stood littered around the garden; satyrs playing a set of pipes as they pranced around the garden, centaurs holding loaded bows. A few weren't so mythical; there was one of a witch and wizard with their wands raised high as they held hands and looked into each other's eyes lovingly; even a pair of people with their swords crossed and looks of fierce determination in every line of their faces.

"Whoa," said Neville reverently.

Nico nodded, talking back the notepad. "Yeah, it's a pretty nice place."

Harry nodded dumbly.

Luna asked, "What're your instructors like?"

Nico thought for a moment. "Percy teaches Fencing and Sword Fighting, and he's about as good as it gets. We learn a few things like acrobatics in that class. Percy's good, but he gets me to do the demonstrations, much like in fencing. Hand-to-Hand Combat ..." he shuddered. "We have _Clarisse._"

Harry shuddered too. He remembered Clarisse la Rue, and she had scared the shit out of him.

"What's she like?" asked Neville.

"She's a good teacher," Nico said, "but do something wrong and she'll pulverise you. Luckily I'm exempted from that class -"

"Why's that?" said Luna.

Nico looked pointedly at his bandaged arms. "It involves a lot of physical contact around the arm area," he explained. "And generally, it helps to have two fully functioning legs - had my left one amputated. For me, that'd do more harm then help, so -"

Ron and Hermione chose that exact moment to enter the compartment.

*"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm staving," said Ron longingly, slumping into his seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach. "Hi, Neville, hi, Luna. Guess what?" he added, turning to Harry.* Then he noticed Nico. "Oh. Di Angelo."

"Weasley," Nico said. Then he arched an eyebrow. "May I be so bold as to ask what's demoted me form 'Nico' to 'di Angelo' in such a short space of time?"

Ron glared at him, and Hermione followed suite.

"It was that trick you pulled with Borgin I'd guess," said Harry. "They still think it was 'immoral' and 'wrong'," he continued, making air quotes around the words 'immoral' and 'wrong'.

"It was!" Hermione burst out, folding her arms over her chest and looking at Nico sternly.

At the end of last year, that look would have terrified Harry, but after spending the summer around Percy Jackson, nothing really compares to _that_ Evil Eye, even if it was never directed at him.

"So they're waiting for an apology on my part?" said Nico, ignoring her.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but I suppose so."

Nico barked out a mocking laugh. "Not gonna happen, cupcakes. I have no regrets."

Ron and Hermione continued to glare.

Nico smiled lopsidedly. "Guys, if you're trying to intimidate me, it's not working."

They glared harder.

"Now you just look constipated."

Harry snorted quietly. Partly because of the comment in itself; mostly because it was true.

They turned their glares to him.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, guys, but it's true!"

They glared even harder at him.

So, he made one of the smart-ass comment he had become famous for around Privet Drive earlier in the summer. "This isn't the bathroom, guys. If you're gonna shit, don't do it here. Go to the bathroom. But not together, 'cause then loads of people would get the wrong idea about the two of you. Plus, who knows how long you could be?"

Okay, so it was wordy and by _far_ not his best insult, but it did the job fine: Neville's jaw had dropped; Luna looked mildly surprised and Nico was completely poker-faced, but still had mischief dancing in his eyes.

While the two victims of the barb had their mouths opening and closing like puffer fish, the compartment door slid open and a breathless Third Year girl stepped inside.

"I'm supposed to give these to Nico di Angelo, Neville Longbottom and Harry P-Potter," she faltered, as her eyes met Harry's she turned scarlet. She was holding three rolls of parchment tied with a violet ribbon. Harry and Neville took there's, looking perplexed, but Nico was pretty calm.

"What is it?" Ron demanded as Harry unrolled his, apparently speaking to him civilly again.

Harry looked at him oddly, but answered anyway. "An invitation," he said.

*"_Harry,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely, Professor H.E.F Slughorn._"

"Who's Professor Slughorn?" asked Neville, looking perplexedly at his own invitation.

"New teacher," said Harry. "Well, I suppose we'll have to go, won't we?"

"But what does he want me for?" asked Neville nervously, as though he were expecting a detention.*

Nico sighed. "Your parents were some of the best Aurors from the last war, Neville. He probably wants to see if you have any of your parent flair."

"But I don't!" Neville said incredulously.

Nico looked at him sternly. "You're underestimating yourself. Positive mentality."

Harry snorted. "Says the most pessimistic person I know, myself included."

"Nah, that's Percy," said Nico dismissively.

Harry was hit by a brainwave. "Do you think if I wore the Cloak, I'd be able to be unnoticed?"

Nico thought for a moment. "Probably not. The corridor's pretty damn crowded. You'd have to shift through the crowds, and if one thing catches people's attention, it's things that aren't meant to happen. Plus, the Cloak won't stay on if you're shifting through masses of people. It'll fall off eventually. I wouldn't bother."

Harry nodded ruefully. "I'm taking it with me anyway."

"Keep it on you at all times," Nico advised. "You never know when you may need it. It's not ideal by any means, but it's way better then nothing."

The way to Compartment C was filled with uncomfortable staring, which seemed to have increased since he last walked down the train. *Every now and then students would hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at him. The exception was Cho Chang, who darted into her compartment when she saw Harry coming. As Harry passed the window he saw her in determined conversation with her friend Marietta, who was wearing a very thick layer of makeup that did not entirely obscure the odd formation of pimples still etched across her face. Smirking slightly, Harry pushed on.*

"Who was that?" Nico asked him quietly. "The girl that ran into her compartment when she saw you coming?"

"My ex," he whispered back. "Cho Chang."

"Messed up dating experience?"

"Understatement."

Nico nodded and dropped the subject.

It was one of the many ways Nico was different to Ron and Hermione. They would push for details and try to offer advice where it wasn't wanted. Nico knew that if he wanted to talk about it, he'd probably say more, and didn't give advice unless asked to.

*When they reaches compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Harry was the most warmly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silver moustache gleamed as brightly as the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat *. "Good to see you, good to see you! And this must be Mr Longbottom!"

Neville nodded, looking scared.*

"Now, as soon as Mr di Angelo arrives we can begin -"

"Right here, sir," said Nico from the shadows near the door.

Slughorn jumped and put a hand on his massive chest. "Dear Merlin, Mr di Angelo, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"My sincerest apologies, sir," said Nico politely. "But, and forgive me this one jibe, I _was_ in plain sight. By all rights I should have been noticed. You wouldn't have known if I'd had malicious intentions until I'd stabbed you in the back. It always pays to be careful, especially in times of war."

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn slightly breathlessly. "Well, do sit down, if you can find a seat."

"With all due respect, Professor, it's probably best if I don't. Whichever unfortunate person or people I happen to be sitting next to will become rather irritated with my constant fidgeting pretty quickly, and I'd probably go insane from sitting a slightly cramped compartment just as quickly."

"My I be so bold as to ask why, Mr di Angelo?"

"I'm ADHD," Nico explained. "Attention Deficit Hyperactive. I can't sit still and I get distracted easily. It's benefits outweigh it's negatives though, at least back at Camp."

"Ah," said Slughorn. "Anyway, do you know everyone? Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course -"

*Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting* and neither did Neville, but Harry, thinking about how the Sorting Hat usually called for House Unity, gave Zabini a brief, curt nod. Zabini's eyes widened slightly: *Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other -? No?"

McLaggen, a large, wire-haired youth, raised a hand and Harry and Neville nodded back at him.

"- and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether -?"

Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile.

"- and _this_ charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finished.

Ginny grimaced at Harry and Neville behind Slughorn's back ...

**(If you want the rest of the chapter, pages 137-139 of HBP.)**

... At the end of Neville's interview, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving judgement on Neville, yet to see whether he had any of his parents' flair*, much like Nico had said. Harry wasn't amazingly surprised by this; Nico had quite a talent when it came to reading people and their intention and motives. If Harry had to guess, he'd say Nico probably picked it up from Percy, Annabeth or Hazel.

Next came Nico.

"Well, the mysterious exchange student," said Slughorn, looking bemused. "Very little is known about you at all, Nico. Would you be related, by any chance, to Maria di Angelo? The brave woman who gave her life spying on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Nico's hand tightened on the hilt of the sword at his waist. "She's my mother," he answered shortly. "I don't talk about her. Or my father. Or my sister. Or any of my relations."

Slughorn's eyes widened slightly. "But her two children were missing and presumed dead ..."

"Presumed." Nico smiled tightly. "We were left on the doorstep of an orphanage in Las Vegas. Won't too nice an orphanage either. I ran away at eight."

"Where did you run to?" asked Ginny curiously.

Nico shrugged. "The streets. Literally, I grabbed the bag of my few belongings and walked out of the place. No-one tried to stop me, but the place had loads of assistants. There were four kids, three were thirteen, one was fifteen, and I went to Camp for the first time. Then I went back to Vegas and joined a gang. Simple as."

"A gang?" Neville echoed. "Like, one of those gangs that goes around mugging people and stuff?"

Nico snorted. "At the time, no. It was just a bunch of kids who had no better options. Sure, we did a bunch of illegal stuff - I got sent to juvie several times for multiple counts of shoplifting, arson and vandalising public property. You know you're home life's fucked up when prison is better. And when the officers that work there know you by name."

"What about your father?" asked Zabini. "I mean, why did you take your mother's name?"

Nico's face closed off and he didn't reply.

Harry, Ginny and Neville winced in unison.

"I'm going to hazard a guess that it's a touchy subject," said Zabini.

Their expressions told all.

Slughorn, evidently sensing the tense atmosphere - how could he not? - moved the subject to what appeared, at first sight, to be a much more pleasant subject. "Nico here's a bit of a celebrity in the Muggle world, aren't you?"

Nico nodded stiffly. "Former Olympic sprinter. I've acted in a few movies as well."

"Olympic?" asked McLaggen. "What's that?"

"The Olympics are a collection of Muggle sporting events," Nico said. "Only the best sportsmen and women qualify, and only the best of the best win. I won gold in the 100m and 200m sprints, breaking Usain Bolt's world records in the process. Therefore, I earned the title, 'Fastest Man to Walk the Earth'," he said, making air quotes.

"And there's more," said Slughorn smugly.

Nico glared at him. "Not that I want to talk about."

"I'm sure they'd want to know about your -"

"And I'm sure they'd want to know about your role in making Tom Riddle what he is," Nico interrupted threateningly.

Slughorn paled and dropped the subject.

Harry narrowed his eyes and stored the information for later use.

After Harry's interview, while Slughorn went on a ramble, lost in nostalgia, Harry tried to look like he was paying attention. Nico had no such reservations and pulled out a book.

Harry looked at the cover. There was a take away coffee cup reading _This Coffee is Expensive_ on its side. Most of the coffee had poured out into a puddle. The title,_ The Undercover Economist_, and the author,_ Tim Harford_, was in the puddle of coffee. **

Harry wondered if it was a good book.

What dirt did Nico have on Slughorn that was so bad Slughorn would react the way he did? And Tom Riddle? As in, Voldemort? Was Slughorn a Death Eater?

No. He was an old friend of Dumbledore's. Dumbledore wouldn't trust a Death Eater, and he certainly would let one teach a bunch of students! Especially not him. Jeez, that sounded egotistical. He was just being paranoid.

_Ah, but he let Snape teach here didn't he?_ a small voice said in the back of Harry's mind. An unfamiliar voice. Harry didn't like that.

Nico looked up from his book and caught Harry's eye.

_Malfoy isn't doing prefect duty_, he said in Harry's head. _Would've thought, knowing him, he'd use any chance he had to abuse his authority._

Nico looked back at his book and Harry felt his prescience retreat.

Nico was right; wouldn't Malfoy be using his prefect status to torture First Years? Maybe it was because, after the Inquisitorial Squad last year, prefect felt a little bit ... he didn't know. Tame, maybe? Yeah, probably.

He didn't think so though. His instincts told him otherwise, and, while the rest of Harry may not always be that right, his instincts were usually spot on.

What felt like days later, but was only a few hours, they pulled into Hogsmeade station.

*"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go change into you robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on Nogtails. Harry, Blaise, any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkled at Ginny. "Well, of you go, off you go!"*

Nico was first out of the compartment - which made sense seeing as he had been standing (read: fidgeting) near the door for the past three-or-so hours while the rest of them had been sitting down and having their muscles cramp in a stuffy-at-best train compartment - closely followed by Harry, who had been sitting next to the door opposite Neville - who, you may want to know, was next out of the compartment. The three along with Ginny, gathered a short way out of the compartment.

As he pushed past Harry into the darkening corridor, Zabini shot him a look both filthy yet slightly curious. Harry merely raised an eyebrow at him in response and watched him go.

*"I'm glad that's over," muttered Neville. "Strange man, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is, a bit," said Harry, his eyes on Zabini. "How come you ended up in there, Ginny?"*

"He saw me hex -" started Ginny.

"Zacharias Smith," Nico finished, flashing Ginny a perfect, pearly-white smile.

Harry felt a surge of white-hot fury as Ginny blushed slightly. Then he shook it off. He didn't like Ginny like that, and Nico was perfectly happy with Lacy.

And if he broke Lacy's heart, Harry would have a moral obligation, as Lacy's cousin, to murder him.

"Yeah," said Ginny, still a little pink around the cheeks. *"You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the DA? He kept on and on asking about what happened in the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him - when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get a detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?"*

"Better then inviting someone because their mother's had more husbands than times she's had sex with them," said Nico mildly, looking at the back of Zabini's head. He looked pointedly at Harry, but the other two didn't notice.

Harry got the message. *In a minute's time, Zabini was going to re-enter the Slytherin sixth-year compartment and Malfoy would be sitting there, thinking himself unheard by anyone except fellow Slytherins ... if Harry could only enter, unseen, behind him, what might he not see or hear? True, there was little of the journey left - Hogsmeade Station had to be less then half an hour away, judging by the wildness of the scenery flashing by the windows - but no-one* except Nico *would take Harry's suspicions seriously, so it was down to him to prove them.*

Nico caught his eye again.

_I can hide you until you get your Invisibility Cloak on_, he said. _I'll come check on you when almost everyone's gone. It's always good to have back-up._

"I'll see you guys later," said Harry, stalking quickly down the corridor and giving Nico a quick nod to show he had understood.

"But what're you -" asked Neville.

"Leave it, Neville," said Nico. "You'd know better then anyone, once Harry's decided to do something, no-one's gonna stop him."

Harry didn't hear that, though, he was too busy running along the corridor and trying not to let the piercing cold feeling that felt too much like a Dementor for his liking get to him.

Still, no-one noticed him, and he seemed to travel much quicker, so he had no objections.

As soon as Zabini opened the door, Harry slipped in and used Zabini's temporarily empty seat to push himself onto the luggage rack.

As soon as he was up, he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself. Just in time, too, because as soon as he felt the fabric of the Cloak fall over him, the cold feeling left him, and he knew that, were he to take the Cloak off now, he'd be perfectly visible. As it was, he was fairly sure Malfoy had seen one of his trainers as the spell - or whatever it was the Nico had used - wore off. But he seemed to dismiss it and turn back to whatever conversation the Slytherins were having.

Nothing of huge interest came up, just some little things like:

*"- someone else called Belby from Ravenclaw -"

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy.*

"- then the most interesting one, di Angelo, an exchange student -"

"Di Angelo?" Malfoy asked, sounding slightly punch-drunk. "As in, the Italian Ancient and Most Noble House of di Angelo?"

Zabini nodded. "The exact same. Have you heard the story of Maria di Angelo, just before the end of the First War?"

Pansy nodded. "Of course; every respectable pureblood has. She was found to be a spy on the Dark Lord, and he killed her, even though they were supposedly in a romantic relationship. Her four-year-old daughter Bianca was in the other room and she was killed in front of her six-month-old son, Nicholas, both of whom promptly went missing and haven't been seen since. They're presumed dead. What does that have do with anything?"

Zabini leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs. "The guy's name is Nico. Nico di Angelo. And they aren't dead; he said so himself. Well," he amended, "seeing as he didn't talk about his sister, she's probably dead or similar, but _he's_ not. Quite the opposite. He's a celebrity in the Muggle world."

"Really?" said Malfoy. "What kind of celebrity?"

"Sports star," replied Zabini. "There's more, but apparently di Angelo has some good blackmail on Slughorn, 'cause he threatened to tell something about a guy called Tom Riddle if Slughorn didn't shut up."

"Interesting," said Malfoy quietly. "Who else was there?"

The rest of the conversation wasn't incredibly interesting, until ...

*Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"*

Harry curled under the Cloak, listening to the outraged remarks and watching with amusement at Crabbe and Goyle gawping at Malfoy. Evidently he hadn't shared this little piece of information with them yet.

"Do you mean - _Him_?" said Pansy, resuming her slow stroking of Malfoy's hair.

**Page 145 of HBP if you want the rest of it**.

*Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy he did not notice Goyle reach up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head.* He hissed slightly, but it was muffled by Goyle swearing. Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning. _What would Percy, Annabeth or Nico do in the situation?_ Harry wondered to himself. They were some of the best people Harry knew at thinking up things to do in the middle of a crisis on the spot, although they went about it in very different ways. Still, any would do right now.

He realised they'd probably all do the same thing: sit tight and hope they don't get caught. Until then, grab a weapon and be prepared.

*Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the Cloak, and waited, breath held. To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide he'd imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like all the others, locked his trunk and, as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new travelling cloak around his neck.* Harry glared at him, feeling deep-seated hatred bubbling in his stomach. If his suspicions were correct …

Harry knew Nico would find some way to get his things onto the platform, even if Ron and Hermione did not. He was stuck where he was until the compartment emptied.

As soon as the train came to a halt, everyone in the carriage bar Harry and Malfoy left.

*"You go on," Malfoy told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it. "I just want to get something."

**If you've read HBP, you'll know what happens next.**

And taking care to tread on Harry's fingers, Malfoy left the compartment.*

* * *

******* This is not a typing error on my part; that's what it says in my copy of HBP.**

******** This is an actual book, and a very good one at that. I recommend it to anyone interested in economics. Tim Harford's a great author, and the 'plot', if you will, is very interesting. Of course, it's basically a load of facts, but they're good facts. The small print hurts my eyes, though.**

**I keep going back on when I say 'such-and-such is the longest chapter I've ever written!', 'cause I just seem to go back on it the next chapter. 25 pages on Word! You better be happy; it took forever!**

**Not much on the voices in this chapter; they just didn't fit in. I'll explain more about them if you want to know. Drop me a message if you do; if enough people ask, I'll do an A/N for it, although you may grasp it over the course of the story.**

**DD.**


	7. And You Say Jason's Dramatic

**Chapter 7 - And You Say Jason's Dramatic  
****A.K.A Snape Victorious**

***Extracts from the Half-Blood Prince***

**I'm going to apologise in advance for the sheer poor quality of this chapter. If you've read this chapter before, I'm going to apologise even more; I had just woken up and selected the wrong file to upload as opposed to this (ever so slightly) improved one, because I'm a lazy bitch who can't be bothered to delete a file once she's done with it.**

**Seriously. I have back to chapter 4 not deleted on this site.**

**Either way, I deeply apologise.**

* * *

The next few minutes, or hours, as they felt like to Harry, were agony. Not physically, of course. Quite the opposite; he couldn't feel a thing. No, it was the _waiting_. He knew Nico would come and check the compartment. He'd said he would, and if Harry had learnt one thing from spending all summer around people who lived with Nico, it was that they never went back on their word unless there was no way the could keep it. Still, he had never hated Malfoy more then he did then as he lay there, like an absurd turtle on its back, blood dripping sickeningly into his open mouth.

Luckily, he didn't need to wait long before the compartment door opened and Nico di Angelo appeared, trunk in one hand, and a set of black robes in another. He had changed, though not into Hogwarts robes; he was wearing his uniform of loose jeans, trainers, a dark purple shirt with the Camp logo - an omega sign with the phrase _Non inclinabor_ and, underneath it, the Greek translation Εμείς δεν θα υποκύψει in the centre of the omega. The number 13 and the phrase _Garde__ Ta Foy _was on the back of it. A tracksuit jacket was draped over the arm that wasn't holding Harry's robes.

He smirked and held open his hand. Simultaneously, the Invisibility Cloak flew into it and Harry was unfrozen. He promptly pushed himself into a more dignified sitting position and wiped the blood off his face.

There was still a large flood of students in the corridor, although if Harry had to hazard a guess he'd say they were past halfway.

Nico flicked his wrist and all the blood cleared off Harry's face and clothes. He tossed him the robes. "Get changed," he said briskly. "If you hurry, we'll be able to go out with the rest of the crowd and act like nothing happened."

Nico sat down and pulled out his book again.

Harry quickly pulled the robes over his head. Ideally, he'd change what he was wearing underneath, but now was no time to be picky.

He wished he knew a spell to fix his nose, but, unfortunately, healing spells were Hermione's forte, not his.

As if reading his mind - which Harry would have suspected, but knew that he just had an intuition for these things - Nico handed him what looked to be a cracker. Harry eyed it sceptically; it looked too much like the crackers Percy had warned him not to eat unless he wanted to spontaneously combust like Jason's cooking attempts.

"Eat it," Nico said. "It'll heal your nose."

Harry looked at him. "Is it that magical food you and Percy warned me not to eat unless I wanted to spontaneously combust?"

"Yup," said Nico, popping the 'p'. "But don't worry; your great-grandmother on your father's side was in Cabin 31. We can't eat much, and legacies can eat even less, but that much won't hurt you."

Harry nodded and ate the cracker. Surprisingly, it didn't taste like a cracker. It tasted like Hogwarts's treacle tart. Like Mrs Weasley's birthday cake and Percy's blue chocolate chip cookies. Like so many good things that shouldn't have gone together but did. It tasted like home. It was the best thing Harry had ever eaten.

He must have had a priceless expression on his face, because Nico cracked a smile.

"C'mon," he said. "We should go, quick. We might be able to catch a carriage if we go now."

Harry agreed, and they slipped out of the compartment. In the general hustle and bustle of the train, even if it was dying down by now, no-one noticed them, though Nico wasn't wearing robes and stuck out like, much like he had earlier, a sore thumb.

Suddenly, Harry frowned. "I've never asked you before, but what does the inscription on the Camp logo mean?"

Nico looked down at his shirt. "Oh, that? _I will not bow_. When Percy came out with it, the whole Camp kinda said 'Why not?' and it became our motto."

Harry nodded. "What about the one on the back of your shirt?" he asked as they pushed through the crowd.

"Each Cabin has their own motto," Nico explained. "I'm the Head Counsellor for Cabin Thirteen - hence the number thirteen - and our motto is _Garde__ Ta Foy_ \- _Guard Your Faith_, in English. I wanted it to be something a bit more morbid, but my sister didn't like that. _Garde__ Ta Foy_ was something we could both agree on."

Harry frowned. "Why were you the one to choose it?"

"This system is relatively new," said Nico, stepping gracefully off the train. By contrast, Harry looked pretty ungainly, stumbling after being pushed by some git or another. Nico grasped his by the elbow to stop him doing a face-plant. "Only four years old, actually. Since the time of the Roman Empire, Greeks and Romans didn't know about each other, and clashed whenever we met. The American Civil War is a good example of what a catastrophe it can be. The Romans had cohorts, the Greeks had cabins. With the merging of the Greek and Roman Camps, we have cabins, like the Greeks, but each Cabin has different sections depending on your Cohort. My cabin - Thirteen - is a little different, because me and my sister-"

"My sister and I," corrected Harry, just to piss him off.

"Stop acting like Annabeth," Nico said, annoyed. "Anyway, Thirteen is different because both _my sister and I_ \- there, happy now?-"

"Very." Harry smirked.

"- are in the Fifth Cohort," finished Nico. "So there's only one section. Therefore, don't ask me to talk about the Cohorts, 'cause I would tell you - and rightly so - that the Fifth is the best. End of."

"I'm sure," Harry drawled.

Nico rolled his eyes and walked onwards.

They grabbed a carriage with some Hufflepuff Second Years, but obviously not before Nico managed to terrify them by having a conversation with the Thestral that pulled the carriage.

"There's nothing there," said a short girl with a round face and mousy brown hair. "The carriages are pulled by magic."

Nico and Harry shook their heads. "They're pulled by Thestrals," said Harry.

"They can only be seen by people who've seen death," supplied Nico helpfully.

"Ask Hagrid," advised Harry. "If you take Care of Magical Creatures in Third Year, he'll be your teacher. Hopefully, anyway, if this damned war allows people to come back to Hogwarts next year."

Nico pouted at him. "I'm meant to be the morbid one," he whined.

"You _are_ the morbid one," said Harry. "I just made a morbid comment for once."

Nico rolled his eyes again and helped the last Hufflepuff into the carriage. She blushed lightly as Nico held her hand.

Nico offered a hand to help Harry into the carriage, but promptly let go.

Harry fell on his butt in the dirt.

"Sorry." Nico smirked, not looking sorry at all.

Harry glared at him, brushing off his robes. "Some friend you are," he muttered, getting into the carriage.

Nico's smirk widened. "Don't you forget it," he said, and the carriage rolled towards the castle.

Halfway there, Nico said in his head. _Just so you know, Dumbledore and my family want me to make a dead dramatic entrance, but only the latter know what it is. I ain't gonna spoil the surprise for you, I know how much you _love_ surprises, but expect lots of smart-ass, sarcastic comments and a few scared ghosts. Just so you know._

Smirking internally, Harry replied, _Thanks for telling me._

_Any time._

They arrived at Hogwarts shortly afterwards, but, by the time they reached the entrance hall, Nico had vanished.

Harry sat down next to Ron and Hermione.

"Neville and di Angelo came back without you and said you were doing something," Ron started.

"Neville was looking at di Angelo weirdly," Hermione added. "Has he done something to you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. The phrase 'jumping to conclusions' sprang to mind, but it didn't seem to be extreme enough. Maybe 'skydiving to conclusions' would be better. Yeah, 'skydiving to conclusions' summed up Ron and Hermione pretty well in terms of their attitudes. "No, Ron, Hermione, Nico didn't do anything to me. Nothing negative, anyway. If it weren't for him, I'd still be on the express with a broken nose."

"WHAT?" they shouted, but in the general cacophony of the Hall no-one that wasn't looking at them before looked twice.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. I'll tell you later, alright?"

They both looked dubious, but agreed anyway.

Harry took the opportunity to see if Nico was in the hall for his 'big entrance'. Knowing Nico as he did, it'd probably be a huge anticlimax.

Sure enough, half hidden in the shadows, sitting on one of the ceiling beams, was Nico di Angelo.

He gave Harry the peace sign with his hands and turned away.

Harry rolled his eyes unnoticeably and continued to look around the hall, just to avoid suspicion.

Soon, order came to the Great Hall and the First Years, along with the Sorting Hat, was brought in.

The Hat opened its brim and sang:

_We don't need no education,_

_We don't need no thought control._

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom,_

_Teachers leave them kids alone._

_Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone!_

_All in all it's just another brick in the wall._

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall._

_We don't need no education,_

_We don't need no thought control._

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom,_

_Teachers leave them kids alone._

_Hey! Teacher! Leave us kids alone!_

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall._

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_.

In the silence of the Great Hall, Harry burst into laughter.

"I love that song!" he cried.

Almost everyone looked at him weirdly, except for those who were nodding in agreement.

"Who let the Hat listen to Pink Floyd?" a Fifth Year Ravenclaw girl giggled.

"Especially _Another Brick in The Wall_," said a Seventh Year Slytherin.

"It's _Another Brick in the Wall Part II_!" amended a Second Year Hufflepuff.

_Hmm_, Harry thought, _looks like one of the girls we took the carriage with_.

"Can't forget the _Part II_," snickered the Seventh Year Slytherin.

All four of them (the Ravenclaw, the Slytherin, the Hufflepuff and Harry) laughed even harder, along with a few others.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you for that, Mr Hat."

The Hat nodded his head towards him. "Thank you Headmaster. And now for what would normally be the focus of my song, but that I decided to leave out for humour's sake; be united! Another song by Pink Floyd, a song of theirs you may have guessed I was singing earlier, says 'together we stand, divided we fall', so stand together! Thank you."

The Hat fell silent again.

"And now for the Sorting!" Dumbledore said brightly, in an attempt to lighten the mood, which, for some reason, was rather grim.

The Sorting was, Harry thought, rather boring. He clapped for everyone, remembering the Hat's message, but cheered hardest for the Gryffindors as was obligatory. He figured cheering at the Sorting was a good place to start uniting the houses.

At the end, Dumbledore called for silence yet again. "Now, I know we all want to get to our feast, but there is one more thing that must be said. This year, we will be having an exchange student from Olympus Military and Combat Camps."

The Hall exploded into whispers.

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence, which soon returned.

"Now," he said sternly, "I urge you all, no matter how much you wish to, to please, if you value your life, or at least an unbroken nose and unwounded pride, treat them with respect, or at least as an equal."

"Why not?" asked a Hufflepuff.

"'Cause we don't take shit back home," said Nico, as Harry knew it was. Everyone else jumped and looked for the source of the noise.

_Dick move, di Angelo_, said Jude.

"You know," Nico continued idly, "you'd be surprised at how rarely people look up."

Immediately, everyone looked up.

"Just because I commented on why people don't look up doesn't mean I'm above you," said Nico, sounding amused. "Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not. Either way, in the amount of time you've been looking for me, if I was feeling malicious, several of you would be dead already. You _are_ in the middle of a war, you know. Constant vigilance and all that shit."

Seemingly unprovoked, Nico cocked his head to the side. "You hear that? _That_ is the sound of no-one slapping me upside the head reprimanding me for my language. Pure bliss, that."

"Mr di Angelo," Dumbledore said sternly, "would you please stop playing games and come here?"

"Sure thing," said Nico brightly. "As soon as someone other then Potter spots me, 'cause he's known where I was from the beginning."

As one, several hundred heads turned towards Harry. He scowled. "Thanks a lot, Nico. I get enough attention as it is."

"Any time," said Nico, laughing. "And, again, never take your attention away from the target. I'm in plain sight, for gods' sakes! _No-one's_ spotted me yet!"

Saphira McBride cast the _Homunum revelio_ spell.

"Nice idea," Nico praised. "But we're in a crowded area and I can block that spell, so its completely ineffectual, but good thinking."

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nico, if you're trying to hide yourself, _no-one_, I repeat, _no-one_ is going to find you!"

"One, I'm using perfectly mundane means of concealing myself, no magic involved. And, two, much to my shame, I can be found, even when using magic."

"Yeah, by Percy and Annabeth! _No-one_ can hide from them!"

"True, but seriously, this is ridiculous. I know three-year-olds who could have found me quicker then you lot have."

"If you mean Theo, he can find bloody anyone, so that's not really saying much," said Harry.

This was embarrassing. This was really, really embarrassing.

"He's still three, Harry," Nico reminded him. "Trained in combat since he could hold a knife, yes, but only three. And the rest of you have thirty seconds before I cast some kind of embarrassing spell on a few unlucky individuals. Better find me."

Thirty seconds later, Draco Malfoy was hanging by his ankle, suspended in mid-air and announcing the evils of pureblood supremacy, Cormac McLaggen was singing opera, Marietta Edgecombe was singing Radiohead's _Creep_, and Severus Snape was handing out candy to Gryffindor First Years, proclaiming himself to be the Pretty Princess of the Ponies.

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "The Stolls would be so proud."

"Why do you think I get along so well with them?" Nico asked rhetorically. "I give them ideas, they put them into action, Percy covers for us, it's a perfect system."

"So Percy is involved in all of it? I thought Lacy said she'd murder you if you brought Percy into anything you happen to do with the Stolls."

"Yeah, but he doesn't actively _do_ anything. He just conveniently turns away from something we happen to be doing, or telling us that such a person tends to go such a place at such a time every Monday, or something."

"Ah."

"Yeah." After a moment's pause, Nico huffed. "I'm getting bored here people! I'm ADHD, I can't stay in one place too long."

Five minutes later and no luck.

"Oh fuck it all," Nico said, jumping off the ceiling beam. "I couldn't stay up there much longer."

Harry smirked at some of the astounded faces.

What he wouldn't give to know what they were thinking.

* * *

With some random girl for some reason named Melissa

That was embarrassing. Melissa hated feeling stupid. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't a dead studious Ravenclaw, but she liked knowing stuff. Of course, her annoyance quickly faded when she looked at the guy.

He was about as good looking as someone could get, with sharp, angular features, high cheekbones, deep-set dark eyes framed by dark thick lashes that'd make anyone jealous, Melissa included. He was really tall, 6 foot to 6'2", and looked really athletic, if a little on the wiry side. He had muscles that sure as hell didn't come from waving a stick - the sword at his waist was testimony to that. He held himself with a casual elegance, like he didn't know how good looking he was.

The best way Melissa could think to describe him was as follows:

Imagine Taylor Lautner, James Dean, David Beckham, Mick Jagger, and Brad Pitt all gave their incredible good looks away and gave them to one person. The result was standing in front of her.

He was wearing loose dark wash jeans, black Nike trainers, a black tracksuit jacket and a dark purple shirt with a logo on it - an omega sign with some script in a different language on it. He was tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on his leg, like he was constantly on a sugar rush. He looked to be relaxed, but vigilant, as though something would come and attack him at any time he was unprepared.

Then again, he goes to a combat school, so that probably wasn't out of place.

He smirked at them, revealing straight pearly white teeth. The only thing that marred his skin were a few scars - the most obvious being the four parallel marks, like he'd fought a bear, that started just under his right eye and disappeared at the collar of his shirt, just below his left collar bone.

Melissa's heart fluttered slightly.

It's just ... Jeez, he was _really_ hot.

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing robes?" asked a confused Hufflepuff.

Melissa nodded along with lots of other people. She thought so too.

He looked horrified at the very thought. "Me? In _those_ fashion disasters? No thanks. I enjoy having freedom of movement and _not_ looking like something out of a child's storybook."

He had a really nice voice. It was distinctly American, but with Italian, French and Greek accents to it.

"There're not _that_ bad," said a Gryffindor optimistically.

"Uh, yeah they are."

"No, there're not."

"I ain't ge'in' into this," said Nico shortly. "And I ain't wearin' robes either. Forget it."

Dumbledore looked at him sternly. "Mr di Angelo, it's school uniform."

Nico met his eyes rebelliously. "I'm only here for the year, and I'm wearing _my_ school uniform." He spread his arms. "See? Much more freedom of movement, much more stylish and _not_ from before the Pilgrim Landing. Personally, I prefer jeans and a t-shirt to a dress. And say what you will about them being 'robes', they're dresses. At least, they look like it. I don't wear dresses; my girlfriend does at the Independence Day dance."

Melissa felt a pang of disappointment when he said he had a girlfriend, although she probably shouldn't have been surprised. Every good-looking guy is either taken, fictional, a jerk, gay, or all four.

* * *

Back with Harry

"Independence Day?" asked Draco Malfoy, still hanging upside down by his ankle.

"Yup!" said Nico. "The day the Declaration of Independence was made official, the fourth of July, the day even Cabins Five and Six put aside their millennia old grudge and are civil towards each other. The day all of Camp goes down the beach to watch Cabin Nine's awesome moving fireworks. One of the few days of the year we're actually allowed sugary food. It's awesome."

"The Declaration of Independence?" asked a Ravenclaw. "What's that?"

Nico looked at her like she belonged in St Mungo's. "You don't know what the Declaration of Independence is? You know: _When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them to another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of Nature and Nature's God entitle them _... No? Where have you been the last few centuries? Under a rock? Oh, wait, this is Britain. I forgot how closed off Magical Britain is. It's the North Korea of the Magical World, although _how_ you're propping your economy is a mystery to me."

"We are not!" objected several people.

"Where's North Korea?" asked several others.

"Dear God you're all ignorant," said Nico.

_They are_, agreed the voice named James. _They just don't appreciate being told as such._

"Who's all ignorant?" said a voice.

"Travis, Connor," Nico greeted. "I'm kind of in the middle of something. Is this important?"

The two brothers from the other side of the I-M looked mock-offended.

"What?" said the taller.

"We can't just -" said the shorter.

"- call and see our -"

"- favourite emo -"

"- pranking buddy -"

"- and friend?" they finished together.

"You could, but you don't," said Nico. "_Je __répète_, what is it?"

The two mock-gasped. "You're going -"

"- Cabin Ten -"

"- on us -"

"- how could you?!" They burst into fake tears.

Nico rolled his eyes. "Quit the melodrama, that's Jason's forte. What is it?"

Suddenly, the two looked mischievous. "It's about -"

"- said melodrama -"

"- master."

"We need -"

" - an idea -"

"- for a prank."

"But we don't have -"

"- your mastermind -"

"- ideas."

"So we thought -"

"- we'd just -"

"- call and -"

"- ask."

Their alternate speech was giving Harry a headache, but Nico took it in stride.

He thought for a moment. "He's planning on taking Piper to dinner. Jinx his clothes to disappear in the middle of it."

The brothers grinned.

"That's -"

"- genius."

"But when -"

"- are they -"

"- going to -"

"- dinner -"

"- and will -"

"- Piper -"

"- murder us?"

_I have a migraine_, said one voice.

_You don't have a head,_ said another.

"Maybe," replied Nico. "Although, she doesn't exactly mind seeing Jason in the nude, and she'll probably be laughing too hard to care. Besides, if she's going to murder anyone, it'll be me for giving you the idea. As for when, I dunno, ask Percy."

"Will -"

"- do."

"See you -"

"- soon."

"Hopefully."

"If you don't -"

"- go and die -"

"- on us."

"I won't," said Nico. "You lot don't die either. It'd be really suckish to have no-one helping me spread chaos."

The two grinned. "Deal."

"But Percy -"

"- would still -"

"- help you -"

"- if it -"

"- came to -"

"- such a -"

"- bleak -"

"- outcome."

"But have fun -"

"- spread chaos -"

"- and -"

"- most importantly -"

"- learn lots."

The three kept straight faces for two seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Yeah."

"Right.

"Like you could -"

"- learn anything -"

"- in Magical Britain!"

"Especially at -"

"- Pigspots."

"Connor, my darling brother, I do believe the name is Hogwarts."

Okay, so the one that said that last bit was Connor, then.

"Is that so? Well no-one told me!"

"I do believe Percy said the name of the school on several occasions."

"Yes, but who cares? No-one takes anything Percy says seriously unless we're in a war."

"To be fair," interjected Nico, "we are. We're just at a temporary truce to re-arrange our forces."

"True."

"But still -"

"- way to -"

"- be morbid."

Nico shrugged. "I'm a morbid person."

"Yes -"

"- you are."

"One wonders -"

"- how we put up with you -"

"- and your morbidness."

"Is morbidness even a word?" Nico wondered aloud.

The two brothers shrugged in unison. "It may be."

"It may not be."

"But who cares?"

"Not us!"

"Anyway -"

"- we must go -"

"- we have a prank -"

"- to plan."

"_Au __revoir__!_"

"_Mon __amie_."

"Now who's going Cabin Ten on who!" said Nico.

"You," they said in unison. "Byel!"

"G'bye." Nico waved his hand, and the message disappeared.

He turned to the rest of the Hall. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Who were they?" asked some Gryffindor.

"Travis and Connor Stoll," Nico answered. "Head counsellors of Cabin Eleven, established thieves, their criminal records show that, and great pranksters. Actually, that reminds me." He walked up to Dumbledore and handed him a letter. "Under the laws of the United States of America, I am obliged to tell you that I have a criminal record and so am a possible danger to the school." Here he smirked. "Of course, I'm not, unless someone manages to really piss me off, in which case some personal information of theirs will soon be floating round and they'll probably be in the hospital wing with some form of injury. Physically, mentally or both varies."

Dumbledore looked at him incredulously. "And your school allows such behaviour?"

Nico snorted. "It encourages it. It teaches people to fend for themselves and not rely on authority figures. Of course, the line is drawn at killing, serious injury, maiming, and completely destroying someone's social life, but everyone knows the boundaries. Oh, and I'm staring in a movie, so I'll be absent some days. They don't really care about my school attendance record."

_What happened to your subtlety?_ bemoaned the voice called Tom. _Don't just change the subject in such a blatant manner!_

"So it tolerates thieving and bullying. Is that what I'm hearing?" said Dumbledore, outraged, conveniently ignoring the last part of Nico's statement.

_And it didn't even work,_ Tom continued.

"Don't act so affronted," Nico snapped. "_Your_ school does it enough. At least ours is done in a vaguely controlled environment and the teachers will actually take action if things go too far. And the consequences of stuff like that isn't just the loss of house points and a detention. It's things like scrubbing every paving stone in New Rome with a toothbrush while Terminus watches you. Just Terminus _being_ there makes it horrible. At least most of our students are _huge _names in the Mortal world. At least _our_ teachers know what they're talking about. At least _they_ aren't prejudice. At least _they_, Severus Snape, don't used unauthorised Ligilimency on minors! Which, may I add, is illegal, and punishable by three years in Azkaban. The way I've seen it, your Potions professor, or at least, Potions professor until now, has a total of three thousand years in Azkaban for unauthorised Ligilimency, and you yourself faced with thirty. And that's only on people that go to this school right now!"

_He doesn't care_, said Malcolm.

He was becoming even more angry now, and began to advance almost menacingly towards Dumbledore.

"Also, this castle has, what, three hundred moving parts and staircases? Are First Years not assigned a guide? Are they not given maps? Are your students not put into sets so that the ones who find certain subjects difficult can receive more help, and the ones that excel aren't held back by the slower ones? Have you ever thought that Divination should only be taken if you're sure the student has Sight? 'Cause if they don't, they're wasting their time, their teacher's time, and school resources.

"And have you ever thought, 'hmm, maybe we should have an etiquette class for Muggle-born students so they don't embarrass themselves with their excruciatingly poor knowledge of pureblood traditions'? Has that never crossed your mind? And have you ever thought, 'maybe more people would pass the History of Magic O.W.L if we had a living teacher'? Or maybe, 'what if the Potions professor wasn't so damn bitter? What if we put him on a leash? Maybe then, we'd have more Aurors and Healers to do essential work! Brilliant!' But then _you_," he jabbed Dumbledore in the chest with his left index finger, "would have to lay off your little spy, and we all know that, right now, anyone ever accused of being a Death Eater is going to have difficulty getting a job, and we can't have that now, can we? Actually, maybe we should! By _him_ damaging Auror and Healer applicants, lots of young people are out of jobs! But, wait, Britain's so fucking _corrupt_ it doesn't matter how many O. or N.E. you got, only that you come from a wealthy family and can buy your way into these positions! Have you ever thought about correcting that? No! 'Cause just like every other politician in Magical Britain, Albus Dumbledore, you have no morals, and are just as corrupt as everyone else."

Apparently finished with his rant against Hogwarts and Magical Britain as a whole, Nico turned on his heels and walked back to where he was leaning against before.

Many noticed that he walked with a bad limp. In fact, his left leg made a slight _clank_ noise each time it hit the floor, as though it was made of metal.

He started tapping his (right) foot again.

The sharp, quick _tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_ was the only sound in the room until Harry snorted lightly.

When every head turned to him yet again, Harry put his head down and put his fist by his lips. Only those on either side of his could see his lips twitched upwards, although everyone who cared to look saw the mirth dancing in his eyes.

Blaise Zabini started chuckling silently.

Some other Slytherins snorted as well.

A few Ravenclaws put their hands over their mouths to hide their smiles.

Harry put his head on the table and began shaking in silent laughter.

Soon, the entire Slytherin table, half the Ravenclaw table, a few Hufflepuffs and Harry were rolling on the floor laughing.

Everyone else was staring at Nico incredulously.

He took a dramatic bow. "Thank you, thank you, I'm here all year!"

The Hat coughed. "I do believe you need to be Sorted."

"Yup," said Nico cheerily. "I was just wondering if the so-called teachers would remember they had a responsibility." He look pointedly up at the staff table.

McGonagall was, as per usual, the first to recover. She grabbed the Sorting Hat by it's top and gestured to the seat.

Deciding to scare as many people as possible in the process of an introduction by making his status as a genetic mutation as obvious as possible, Nico glided over to the Hat and sat down, despite his limp.

In what seemed like the several hours Nico's Sorting took, his face barely seemed to change. Still, little things like the haunted and gaunt look Nico always had became more prominent at points, and sometimes he seemed to shift more then usual.

What could the Hat be saying that could possibly make Nico react like that?

* * *

With Nico

A Hat? Really? And the way the Hat looked ... could they get any _more_ stereotypical? I mean, patched, dusty, wide brim, very pointy ... It was something out of a child's fairy tale. Hadn't it belonged to Godric Gryffindor? And wasn't Gryffindor a _guy_? Did he have some sort of fetish for women's clothes?

_Yes, yes, probably, I agree, yes, yes again, and no. At the time, hats such as myself were very much gender-neutral,_ said the Hat.

_Well hello to you too_, Nico said wryly.

_No need to be sarcastic_, the Hat sniffed. _Now, if you'd just let me look through your memories -_

_Oh Hell no_, said Nico, clamping down his Occlumency shields.

_If you don't let me see your memories, I can't Sort you_, replied the Hat irritably. _You're too much of a complex character for me to decide straight away. All I can do right now is rule out Hufflepuff. While undeniably hardworking and loyal, you're not generally described as 'nice', or 'generous' or anything else linked with Hufflepuff._

_Will I have to see my memories again?_ Nico asked.

_Not in full, although maybe snapshots._

_Fine. Just be quick about it. Just so you know, my mind is a damn scary place._

_Impatient. Definitely not Hufflepuff._

_Just get on with it, you horrid piece of headgear._

Soon, snapshots of Nico's false memories flashed through his head. For that he was thankful; his Mist-made memories were far more bearable to watch. Of course, they didn't mean they were _nice_. Quite the opposite. Especially when coupled with some of his real memories.

The bang of a gun echoed around his head.

Bright blue eyes were staring up at him in disbelief; he hadn't thought Nico would actually pull the trigger.

Blood red eyes were glaring at him distastefully. He wasn't good enough for his father, false or otherwise.

Bright, emerald green eyes - in Nico's opinion, the most beautiful eyes in the world - were pleading with him. _Don't go_, they begged. _Don't go, don't ..._

His throat burned. It hurt to swallow. His stomach contracted painfully and the ghosts of the extreme starvation and dehydration plagued him again, but during the day this time; not his usual nightmares.

His vision went blurry. The floor wavered beneath his feet. His eyelids wanted to fall desperately. He wanted to close his eyes; to fall asleep and never wake up.

_Not real_, he told himself. _That was two years ago. It's over._

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime later - although may have just been his ADHD acting up - he was wrenched out of his horrible past.

The Hat fell off in a dead faint.

Once again under the intense scrutiny of the rest of the school, Nico felt the very Stoll-like need to crack a joke, if a lame one.

"Is the Hat fainting some kind of obscure sign for a certain house, or was it really just that bad for the poor piece of fabric?"

He prodded the Hat with his foot.

The Hat whimpered and curled up as much as he could.

Nico huffed and crossed his arms. "I know I've got some pretty shitty memories, but is fainting really necessary? Melodrama moment."

"Oh shut up," muttered the Hat. "It's a wonder you're not in an asylum."

Nico shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much five months in a coma improves your mental state. But what house do I go to?"

"Anywhere," muttered the Hat. "Bloody anywhere. I'm not going on your head again."

"Suits me," said Nico cheerily. He turned to look out at the Hall again, and Harry put up his hand and gestured for Nico to come over.

He did just that.

"Well that was interesting," said Harry lightly as Nico sat down opposite him.

"In all fairness, I _did_ warn the Hat that my mind was a scary place," said Nico.

"In all fairness, it had to sort you," replied Harry.

_Although having your leg amputated can't be a pleasant experience_, tacked on James.

_Shut up James_.

_Make me Jude!_

_Shut it! The both of you!_

_Sorry Harry._

"Well it failed at that, didn't it?" said Nico.

"It did indeed," acknowledged Harry.

"Well I'd like to see someone read your mind and come out unscathed," interrupted the affronted Sorting Hat.

"No-one _can_ read my mind," Nico told it. "Except my brother, but he doesn't, so no worries."

"You have a brother?" asked Ron.

"Yes."

"Ah," said Ron, turning away again.

"Who's Terminus?" asked Hermione, remembering Nico's earlier rant.

"The border guard of New Rome," replied Nico. "He's so OCD it's not even funny. 'Your hair needs cutting,' he'll tell everyone. 'It's an eighth of an inch below regulation length.' 'You need new trousers; they're a centimetre above regulation length.' My personal favourite it 'Cut out your tongue: it produces far too many non regulation comments.'"

"What's the regulation stuff?" asked someone or other Harry didn't know.

"That's the funniest part: no-one except Terminus knows." Nico snorted. "He wrote a book on regulations, which he gave to the Emperor. He just said, 'What is this?' and Terminus told him, then he threw it away."

"How do you know that?" asked someone else.

"I was there," Nico said, as though it should be obvious. "Family day out and all that jazz."

"Who's the Emperor?"

"My brother. I am ... third, in line to the title right now, although in a few months I'll be seventh." Seeing the curious stares aimed at him, Nico continued: "My sister-in-law is about to have quadruplets, believe it or not."

At the understanding nods, most people turned away, but many continued to stare at both Harry and Nico, who were now deep in conversation about whether a knife beat a sword. They didn't respond as Dumbledore made a quick speech and conjured the feast.

"Don't get me wrong, throwing knives are great, but a sword is so much easier to use," said Nico, piling potatoes onto his plate.

"Yeah, but there's that whole 'it has to be well-balanced' shit that makes no sense," contradicted Harry, who was helping himself to liberal amounts of cottage pie.

"It makes perfect sense."

"To you. You've been using a sword for ... what, five years?"

"Longer. But you'll notice I prefer a sword to a pistol - actually, I take that back. I do prefer a pistol, but a sword it more awesome."

"Of course it is."

"Hey, _I'm_ the sarcastic one here, not you. Leave the sarcasm to the master."

Harry pretended to look around. "Wait, where's Percy?"

"Oh ha, ha. Percy's back home. He's piled under with paperwork."

"Poor thing. Homework is bad enough, but at least it's _sometimes_ interesting."

"True. I looked over Percy's paperwork once. It was full of stuff like tax revenues, how many bucks it's gonna take to repair Cabin Seven after Sherman from Cabin Five took an axe to it, and the stuff from his job in the Mortal world; y'know, whether he should swim at such-and-such a competition, whether such-and-such a campaign was good enough to sell him name to -"

"Wait, what? Sell his name to?"

"Yeah." Nico looked at Harry like he was crazy - which, despite what the _Daily Prophet_ had been saying the previous year, he was not.

Actually, medically speaking, he was.

But no-one knew that, although he was sure that Nico and his family at least suspected. Really, it was amusing how people he had been best friends with for over five years had no idea, but people he had known for a grand total of three months had managed to put the pieces together.

"Believe it or not, the actual competitions don't earn you that much." Nico continued, completely oblivious to Harry's inner musings. "They do, on the other hand, earn you recognition from the public, usually in a positive light, which means companies will pay you big bucks to get you to wear something. You've got to aim it at the right audience, though. If you're aiming your product at kids from a troubled background, most companies will try and get me to support it. If it's being aimed at a high-standing business women, they'd pay my sister or sister-in-law to support it. If it's being aimed at girls who want to look cool, your cousin - my girlfriend, not Dudley - or her half-sister - my cousin-in-law - are paid to support it. It depends on your target audience."

"Thanks Professor di Angelo," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"Anytime."

Done with piling his potatoes and carrots, Nico looked across the table in a mixture of confusion and disgust. "Is there anything else that's truly healthy here? No vegetarian option? Screw you, Britain."

Harry swallowed his mouthful of cottage pie with difficulty. "What?"

"Apparently, British wizards have no idea what a 'balanced diet' is. Hey, kid, pass the peas, wouldja?"

A scared-looking Third Year hurriedly passed the (fairly small) bowl of peas over.

Nico added what looked to be half the bowl to his plate - which wasn't actually a huge amount, considering the size of the bowl.

"Thank you," he said, passing it back to the boy.

He squeaked, but said no more, evidently too scared to talk.

"What my brother _means_ to say, Mr di Angelo," said pleasant-looking Fifth Year a few seats further towards them, casting the boy one would assume was her brother a stern glare, "is _you're welcome_. Isn't that right, Alabaster?" she added threateningly.

The boy squeaked again and nodded his head, quickly turning back to his friends.

"I'll teach him manners if it kills me," the Fifth Year muttered, more to herself then to them.

"It's no problem," said Nico, smiling charmingly.

Harry once again marvelled at exactly how many different attitudes Nico could have towards different people, and how quickly he could change.

The girl smiled and extended a deathly pale hand. "I'm Lou. Lou Torrington." Her smile lit up her dark brown eyes really nicely, Harry noticed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw Nico's eyes flash with amused recognition, but a second later it was gone.

Harry figured he must have just imagined it.

"Harry Potter," he said, shaking her hand.

"I know," Lou replied.

Her hair was really nice; it looked to be woven with strands of soft, golden thread.

_Harry's in lo-ove. Harry's in lo-ove. Harry's in lo-ove_, sang Jude and James.

_Stop it_, said Tom.

_Harry and Lou, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I -_

_I said, stop it!_

_Fine. Spoil sport._

_Thanks Tom._

_Any time._

Harry, being very good at having a conversation with is multiple voices and getting on with stuff at the same time, did something very out-of-character - for him at least (damn his stupid God damn impulses) - and very Nico-like in the meanwhile.

He kissed the back of Lou's hand.

She blushed a delicate shade of rosy pink.

_She's cute when she blushes_.

The thought leapt, completely unbidden, into Harry's head.

_You've only just met her, Harry_, he chided himself mentally.

_That doesn't mean you can't find her cute_, argued the annoying voice.

_Shut up_, Harry told it.

_I will for now._

Harry repressed a sigh. While he was accustom to voices in his head, they _did_ get annoying.

_Maybe I'll get myself checked out at St Mungo's_, he mused. He dismissed it quickly. _Nah._

"'Professor' Snape is glaring at you," said Nico conversationally, making air quotes with one hand around the word 'professor'.

"Isn't he always," replied Harry in the same tone. "Hey, are those peas nice?"

"Not as good as Camp's," said Nico mournfully. "I'm homesick already."

"Cheer up! It's not all bad: you got me, after all."

"While that is a definite plus, Snape looks like he hates me -"

"He hates everyone," said Harry, waving his fork dismissively.

Nico continued like Harry hadn't spoken: " - Dumbledore looks furious with me -"

"While slightly out of character, you _did_ show him up in front of the entire school; it's only to be expected," said Harry.

Again, Nico carried on regardless: " - half the school is listening in to this conversation -"

"They're too nosy for their own good," Harry interrupted again.

This time, Nico acknowledged his input, although not positively. "Says the King of Nosiness. Anyway, and your two best friends, Ron and Hermione, are glaring at me. Probably for having me take away valuable interrogation time."

Harry couldn't find a response to that. The way Nico had emphasised that they were his two best friends, and referring to them by their first names ... Harry felt like he was being almost reprimanded. He was right, though; Harry had barely said two words to his best friends since Nico sat down.

Seeing Harry's internal dilemma, Nico made his choice infinitely easier. "Go talk to them," he said, not unkindly.

Harry nodded and turned to Ron and Hermione, who were rather pointedly ignoring him. "So ... What did you guys do after I was gone?" he asked, feeling more than slightly awkward.

"Nothing much," sniffed Hermione. "Just chatted, you know."

Harry resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. That was evidently not the case. If it were, Hermione would have given him a comment-by-comment dissection of the conversation complete with descriptions of what was going on outside.

He told her as such.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she sniffed again.

_She so does_, Harry thought, mentally rolling his eyes.

Again, he said as such.

Hermione and Ron merely glared at him.

"What is your problem?" he asked furiously. "Or are there too many to name just one?"

Ouch. That was going to cause him trouble. Damn his smart mouth.

Again, they merely glared harder at him.

Deciding to cut his losses, he made yet another scathing comment.

"You know Muggles have a thing called 'laxative' for cases like yours," he said, sneering. "You should try it sometime."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that, while everyone in the near vicinity was watching, Nico and Lou seemed to be trapped in their own little world, although Harry wouldn't be surprised if Nico was secretly listening in.

_You know me too well_.

_Get out of my head._

_Just saying._

_Well don't._

_In response to your problem, Granger's about to scream about you betraying them. Get a response ready._

Sure enough, as soon as Harry had an alright-he-supposed comment ready, Hermione burst out, "How could you do that Harry? We're your friends and you just ditch us at the first opportunity! Why?"

Harry glared at them. His comment didn't really fit in this context, so luckily a different one sprang to mind. "Is there something wrong with me having more friends then just the two of you?" he spat. "Is it because you can't look past a single occurrence and get to know a person before you judge them? What if I judged you solely on one time you ranted at me and Ron, Hermione? What if I judged you, Ron, on that time you abandoned me after the Triwizard Tournament? Or one time you wouldn't do your homework and decided to play Quidditch instead? Or what if I judged Hermione solely based on one of her homework essays? You know what impression I get of you two? For you, Hermione, I'd get the impression of a bratty, arrogant know-it-all that doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut, and for Ron, I'd get the impression of a disloyal, petty and immature bastard who lets his jealousy get in the way of his friendships. Are they positive? Of course not! So why should I be friends with you two?"

The question sprang on them suddenly. Woefully unprepared for once, Hermione said feebly, "Because we're not really like that."

"Exactly." Harry nodded at them. "You're not. You both kind, caring and loyal, but several episodes don't make me think of you as that. So why do you insist on judging one person by one event? It wasn't even that _bad_ an event. The methods used were just ones you didn't approve of."

"They were _Dark_," said Hermione.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Dumbledore dabbled in the Dark Arts as a kid," he replied, much to their shock. "You still respect _him_, though."

"That's different," said Ron.

"Why?"

"Because he's _Dumbledore_."

"And?"

"Well ... he's ..." Ron struggled for a response, as did Hermione.

Harry sneered at them. "I'm waiting."

They dropped their heads, for once completely stunned.

Hermione looked at him remorsefully.

_She should be sorry,_ said a voice in his head sourly.

_Shut it Tom_, Harry ordered.

Tom hmphed, but remained quiet.

If you haven't guessed by now, Harry was accustomed to voices in his head. They were all different, so they had names. He didn't choose them; they did. Weird? Yes. But he was Harry Potter, he was allowed to be weird.

And the voices weren't exactly something he could help anyway.

"Sorry Harry," she said, her voice matching her expression. "We didn't think …"

"Its fine," he replied, smiling. "But it's not _me_ you should be apologising to." He nodded at Nico. "_He's_ the one you screwed over."

Ron nodded. "Hey Nico?" he said hesitantly.

"Yes, Ron?" said Nico, responding to Ron's use of his first name.

Ron took a deep breath. "Sorry."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Apology accepted." He made to return his attention to Lou.

_Oh he's pissed_, snickered Jude.

"Me too," said Hermione.

"Accepted."

He started talking to Lou again as though nothing had happened.

"Is he always that brief?" asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. "When he's in the middle of a conversation, or it's about a subject matter that doesn't interest him, yes. Generally, no."

*"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked.

"To know what really happened at the Ministry," said Harry.

"Him and everyone else," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us on the train, weren't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you really are the Chosen One -"

"There has been much talk on that very subject matter even among the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head towards Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. "Harry Potter knows he can confide in me with complete confidence," I told them. "I would rather die than betray his trust.""

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead, " Ron observed.*

"Au contraire," drawled Nico, before Nick could respond. "Ghosts aren't _actually_ fully dead. The part of their soul that is meant to be sent to the afterlife stays on Earth. Consequently, ghosts are neither alive or dead; they are stuck in limbo for eternity. For a ghost to say they would rather die than betray someone's trust is actually a very big thing. Consider yourself flattered, Harry."

"My Lord," said Nick, inclining his head towards Nico. "A pleasant surprise."

"Sir Nicholas," replied Nico. "I trust you are well?"

"As well as one can be when they are, as you so accurately said, stuck in limbo," said Nick dryly.

Nico's reply was cut off as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

*"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms wide open as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione.

She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Harry from the Dursleys.

Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple and old sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now, to our new students, welcome, and to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you …"*

Nico snorted at the same time Malcolm the voice did.

"Nothing to worry about," Nico mimicked quietly. "It's not 'nothing to worry about'. He's _dying_."

Those who heard him gasped and relayed it to their friends immediately. Within seconds, the rumour that Dumbledore was dying was known by everyone.

"How long do you reckon he's got?" Harry asked.

Nico looked at Dumbledore calculatingly. "If he tries to stop it? A year, tops. If he doesn't? A month. Maybe two or three, if he's lucky. No more."

That circulated even quicker. Maybe it had to do with the powerful, deathly aura, or maybe the intelligent gleam in his eyes (which had every right to be there: Harry was well aware of Nico's IQ being 173), but no-one questioned that Nico knew what he was talking about.

Dumbledore, seemingly unaware of the comments, carried on with his speech. "And Mr Filch, our caretaker -"

"Who should have been fired a long, _long_ time ago," added Nico.

"- has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought from the shop called Weasleys Wizard Wheezes -"

"Like _that'll_ stop anyone," said Nico contemptuously.

"Those wishing to play for their house Quidditch teams should contact their Heads of House, as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn" - Slughorn stood **… blah blah blah. Read HBP if you want to read the rest of the speech. **Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Harry, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer, allowing most of Gryffindors to draw ahead of him. Hermione had darted ahead to fulfil her prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron remained with Harry.

"I'm sorry about how I reacted," he said quietly. "I mean, I should have trusted you. Your instincts are usually right, and if you trust Nico di Angelo … I do too."

"Don't sweat it, mate," said Harry, acutely aware of Nico and Lou still talking at the door. Evidently, the conversation was so engrossing Lou didn't feel it necessary to carry on with the rest of the House.

"Why does Nico burn some of his food?" asked Ron.

Harry looked at him sharply. He had noticed that, but, having spent near all of his early summer around the Jacksons, he was used to there weird habits, and knew the reasons for them. He hadn't even made a note of it.

That didn't mean he was going to tell Ron though.

"Is that all you want to know? Why he burns his food?" he said sharply.

"No," Ron hurriedly denied. "No, no, no. I'm just curious."

_Grow a backbone_, snarked Tom.

"Ask him then," said Harry.

"But … but … he probably hates me."

Harry shrugged. "Not my problem."

He turned to leave.

"Wait!" said Ron. "Fine. I'll ask him. But if he kills me, I want you to speak at my funeral and tell everyone I'm dead because of you."

"Whatevs."

As they drew closer to the laughing pair, Ron began to lag behind.

"Hey man," said Harry, slapping Nico on the back. "What up?

Nico shrugged. "Nothin' much. Yourself?"

"Ron wants to ask you something," said Harry, deflecting the question.

Nico's eyes glittered, almost maliciously. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," said Ron, gulping. "I was just curious …"

"Yes," said Nico wryly, "I gathered that when Harry there said you had a question."

"I'll just be going," said Lou, turning towards the Entrance Hall.

"Kay," said Nico. "See you Lou."

"Bye Nico. It was nice talking to you again."

"Same."

Nico turned back to Ron and raised his eyebrow. "Your question?"

Bringing up every bit of his Gryffindor courage, Ron said, "Why do you burn your food?"

Harry, personally, had no idea what Nico reply to this question would be. On the one hand, when he had asked, Percy had answered levelly and informatively, just like with every other question Harry had. On the other hand, that was Percy, and after they'd all been classified as "friends" for a while. Ron, on the other hand, was not Nico's friend, and Percy wasn't here to answer regardless.

Nico merely quirked an eyebrow. "I'm surprised. Truly. You don't seem like the type to come out with intelligent questions. Then again, neither did Harry."

"Feeling the love mate," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Just feeling the love."

"In answer to your question," continued Nico, pointedly ignoring his now pouting friend, "there's a superstition back home. You don't sacrifice part of your food and you die, essentially. Of course, there's a whole bunch of mysterious rumours and shit surrounding it, but that's basically it."

"You never really struck me as the superstitious type."

"Oh, I'm not," Nico snorted. "Only thing is, someone decided to call out this rumour. Didn't sacrifice any of their food for three days. Naturally, they started proclaiming it was false; unnecessary. Next day, they went missing. Two days after that, we found their charred corpse hanging from a tree in the forest."

"Really?" Ron seemed fascinated. "How'd he die?"

"Magic," said Nico. "Nearest we could figure, the wards draw strength from the sacrifice of food at dinner, instead of drawing it from magic cast inside the walls, like Hogwarts. To make sure its wards are strong enough, the … spirit of Camp, I suppose … uses magic to make sure everyone keeps sacrificing to it. Should someone stop, they are putting Camp at risk, so are deemed a traitor, and the magic surrounding Camp kills them on charge of treason."

Ron's eyes widened. "Little bit extreme, don't you think?"

"No," said Nico nonchalantly. "It's just how we roll."

With that parting comment, he turned on his heels and left.

* * *

**Sorry for the abrupt ending; I felt the chapter was dragging on too much with too little happening. It was a crap chapter anyway, and thanks if you're still with me.**

**To anyone who's wondering, yes, Lou Torrington will play a bigger role in the story. Possibly a controversial role, but a big role none the less. Just a hint, Lou Torrington is NOT her real name. If you can guess what it is, kudos to you, you can have a cookie! But you must tell me!**

**A few hints:**

**Her appearance.**

**Her name.**

**Her brother's name.**

**She's part of Nico's REAL family, not the Mist-made one.**

**As you may** **have guessed by the above comment, she is not an OC**

**_Au revoir!_**

**DD**

**P.S. Merry Christmas! I'll be going skiing for a week or so on Boxing Day - won't be back till January. I hope you all have fun - I hope I will, too, seeing as the Franch Alps apparently have a shortage of snow this year. Sigh. Ah well.**


	8. The Secrets of Hermione Granger

**Chapter Eight - The Secrets of Hermione Granger  
****A.K.A. The Half-Blood Prince (Part 1)**

**Congrats to TheliteraryJourneyman (I hope that's right!) for correctly guessing Lou's real identity. I'm not putting it here. Guess. Virtual cookies are still up for grabs. (::) (::)**

**Emi Nicole Jacks (Guest): Not quite, although that _is_ an idea. Now you've given me something to think on. Dang it.**

**Random musing of the chapter: Am I the only one who never ceases to be amazed by the lack of logic in French people? I've been in France for New Year for two years now, and last year the fireworks were twenty minutes late, and this year they were two and a half hours early. Oh, and apparently the solution for unexpected snowfall is to close off all roads to mountains and make some of us camp out in the car/in a hall that is basically a refugee camp with heating. Oh, and, despite having a ton of snow on the off-piste five metres away, leave the piste ****practically ****bare. Bravo France. Bravo.**

**That being said, I got a skiing holiday with plenty of fresh powder (if with a high avalanche possibility) when I was expecting a hiking one, so no real complaints.**

* * *

**Chapter summary: Better than the last one, I think (although that's not hard). Contains severe Hermione bashing, manipulative and outright douchebag-esque Nico and OOC Percy. And some plot development (we're kind of overdue on that). And some voices, 'cause I like them :).**

* * *

Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast the next morning (Harry had tried to wake Nico up, but all it got him was a pillow to the face. He had no idea that a pillow, especially one spelled for comfort, could hurt so much. Then again, he estimated it must have been going about a hundred miles an hour so ...).

He debated telling them about his theory of Malfoy being a Death Eater, and what he heard him say in the carriage the previous night, but ultimately decided against it. Harry loved Ron and Hermione (in an entirely non-romantic way) but God damn it they could be thick headed.

Well, Ron more than Hermione, but to tell one you had to tell the other.

"Where's Nico?" asked Hermione.

"Still a -" Harry started.

"Behind you," a voice interrupted him.

Letting out a yelp, Hermione whirled around, placing a hand over her heart. "How did you do that?" she demanded hotly.

Nico was leaning, half obscured in shadows, against the wall, wearing his trademark smirk. "Maybe I Apparated," he said.

"You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts."

"Maybe _you_ can't," said Nico, "but I could bring down all of Hogwarts's wards in ... oh ... I estimate maybe five or ten minutes. With Jason it'd take two, and with Percy it would take a few seconds, max. Your wards are incredibly sub-par."

"They're the strongest wards in Britain," spoke up a Gryffindor Fourth-Year.

Harry rolled his eyes mentally. How very ... _Hogwartian_ of the students to be eavesdropping.

Was _Hogwartian_ even a word?

"Britain is weak," said Nico. "As I said, it would take five or ten minutes for me to collapse the wards, and they wouldn't even try and stop me. You know how our wards work back home? To even be granted access to them you have to empower them, and as soon as you intentionally try to harm them, they harm you. Offence is the best defence and all that."

_He's still pissed from last night, isn't he?_ said Jude.

"You're lying!" said a rather brave Second-Year.

Nico cocked an eyebrow. "You want me to prove it?"

_Yeah, he's still pissed._

_No!_ said James. _We believe you, you don't need to prove it!_

"Okay!" Harry interrupted. "Before we endanger all of Hogwarts -"

Nico opened his mouth to point out something.

"Yes, Nico, I am well aware the sub-par wards endanger Hogwarts, but you don't need to collapse all of them, really."

"I was actually just going to collapse the ones around the Gryffindor tower and put them back up again, but whatever." Nico shrugged. "Dunno 'bout anyone else, but I'm gonna go get food. _Do svidanya_."

Or at least, that was what it sounded like.

He glided out of the portrait hole, closely followed by Lou Torrington and Harry, who in turn were followed, though tentatively by Ron and Hermione.

"What language was that?" asked Lou.

"Russian," Nico replied absently.

"You speak it." It was more of a statement then a question. Harry had the oddest feeling that Lou and Nico knew each other from somewhere

"Mmhmm."

"You speak any other languages?"

"Is this just the ones I can speak fluently or languages where I could get by in their native country?"

"Fluently."

"English -"

"Is English not your first language?" Ron interrupted.

"Nope," said Nico, popping the 'P'.

"What is?"

"_Italiano._"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Anyway, English, Italian, French, Spanish, Latin, Ancient Greek - including writing -, German, Mandarin - including writing -, and Hindi. And if Morse Code counts, then that."

"And languages you _don't_ speak fluently?" asked Hermione.

"You mean the ones I'm still good at?"

"Yes."

"Russian, Polish, Urdu, Arabic, Japanese - writing included -, Bengali, Malay, Vietnamese, Korean, and I'm currently learning Ukranian."

"Lot of languages."

"Mmmhm."

"You aren't a very good conversationalist, you know."

"You sound more like your interrogating me. Or interviewing me. I've had experience with both."

"Who would want to interview you?" asked Ron rudely.

Nico quirked an eyebrow (he seemed to do that a lot) and smirked (he seemed to do that a lot too). "I'm an international celebrity, Ronikins. Child star, Hollywood's Golden Boy. I assure you, there are _many_ people that want to interview me."

They reached the Great Hall.

Nico looked up and down the table pointedly. "Is there nothing healthy here for vegetarians?" he said, exasperated.

No-one heard him, however, as Ron had just snapped "It's rude to point," at a particularly minuscule First-Year boy, who had been whispering things behind his hand to a friend about Harry. He promptly turned scarlet and stuttered out an apology.

*Ron sniggered. "I love being a Sixth-Year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole period where we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to be needing that time for studying, Ron!" Hermione said.

"Yeah, but not today," said Ron. "Today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."*

Nico stared glumly down at his bowl of porridge. "I miss home," he said mournfully, "the food especially."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "It's horrible, I know," he said, copying Ron in shoving a whole fried egg in his mouth, "but -"

His reply was cut off by Nico pointedly grabbing his lower jaw and closing his mouth.

"Half-chewed food is _not_ something I want to see this early in the morning, Potter," he said deliberately. "This food is unappetizing enough as it is."

"Don't diss Hogwarts's food," said Ron.

Harry tried to agree, but choked on his food.

_Well done_, said Tom.

Nico thumped Harry hard on the back as he coughed.

"I'll diss whatever I wanna diss, thanks."

"But Hogwarts's food is the best in the world!"

Harry wheezed something that sounded like agreement.

Nico looked at him sceptically. "Dude, you've _had_ my brother's chocolate chip cookies. Are they really not as good as _this_?" He pointedly lifted a spoon of porridge and let it drip back into the bowl.

Harry had to admit, compared to Percy's blue chocolate chip cookies, that was pretty awful.

"Point taken," he said, having now regained the ability to speak.

Nico looked slightly disgusted at Ron's table manners.

"You realise your risk of a heart attack is 50% when you have a meat-centred diet, right?" he asked.

Ron didn't cease his eating. He looked like he was trying to break the world record on how much bacon could be consumed in one sitting. "So is yours," he said with his mouth full.

"Actually I don't eat meat, so my risk of a heart attack is 15%."

"It's good for you though!"

"Okay common sense. If it was good for you, it wouldn't kill you, now would it?"

Ron shrugged. "I'll live."

"A heart attack means that your heart stops, so chances are you _won't_ live."

Harry pushed his plate away from him. "Well, that's put me a bit off meat. I've got enough endangering my life without _that_ particular statistic."

Nico shrugged. "That's my philosophy."

Lou slipped away a short while later with a "Goodbye," and a smile that made Harry's heart flutter.

_Yeah, you _totally _don't like her_, said James.

_Oh shut up._

*After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.*

Nico was singing to himself, Harry noticed. "_No dust will ever grow on this frame, one million years and I will say your name, I love you more then I can ever scream._"

"What song is that?" asked Harry.

"Hm?" Nico said, breaking out of his revelry. "Oh, _The Mortician's Daughter._"

"Who by?"

"Would you believe me if I said _me_?" *

"Really?"

Nico nodded, a faint pink tinge covering his cheeks.

"I didn't know you were in music."

Nico smiled. "You realise the _Hollywood Drama_ trilogy is technically a musical, right? And I did the theme song for _The Fault in Our Stars _-"

"Didn't you star in that?"

"Mhm, I played Gus." **

"Well, you learn something new every day."

_Not a bad singer, is he?_ said Malcolm, as Nico resumed singing to himself (slightly more quietly.)

("_We booked our flight those years ago ..._)

_Aw, has Malcolm got a crush?_ teased James.

("_I said I loved you as I left you ..._)

_You realise I'm basically you, right?_ retorted Malcolm.

("_Regret still haunts my hollow head ...)_

_So saying _I _have a crush is the same as saying _you_ have a crush_, he continued.

("_But I promised you that I will see you again ...)_

_... Damn it Malcolm! Why do you have to be so smart?_

_Because otherwise Harry would have no voices to accompany him but annoying ones and Tom._

Nico stopped singing.

Professor McGonagall was here.

_Tom is plenty annoying._

_Not as annoying as you I'm not_.

_Bugger off Tom! This has nothing to do with you!_

_This conversation is _about_ me! It has everything to do with me!_

_I hate you all, _grouched Saul.

_Stop being so depressing, Saul! _said Andy, the naive voice. _Let's stop arguing now._

_Shut it Andy!_ said, Tom. Tom and Andy definitely had a brotherly relationship - Tom constantly bullied him, but if a different voice tried to, Tom would tear them to shreds.

Really, the inner workings of his mind astonished Harry sometimes.

*Hermione was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L results.

"Herbology, fine," she said. "Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. And you qualify for Defence against the Dark Arts with 'Exceeds Expectations.' But the problem is Transfiguration. I'm sorry, Longbottom, but an 'Acceptable' really isn't good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level, I just don't think you'd be able to cope with the coursework."

Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.

"Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I've never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it."

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about "my grandmother wants."

"Hmph," snorted Professor McGonagall. "It's high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have - particularly after what happened at the Ministry."

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before.

"I'm sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms however - why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?"

"My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option," mumbled Neville.

"Take Charms," said Professor McGonagall, "and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless." Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination. "The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney."

Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.*

Harry was busy observing the sky through the Great Hall ceiling - it was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds - and being amused by the Voices' banter when McGonagall called his name.

*"So, Potter, Potter . . ." said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry. "Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration ... all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"

"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor."

"And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T. students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything-"

"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," said Professor McGonagall. "Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way- twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure."*

A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Harry.

"Look," said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, "we've got a free period now ... and a free period after break ... and after lunch ... excellent."

"I'm just gonna wait for Nico," said Harry. "Is that okay?"

Ron's smile wavered just slightly, before returning. "Yeah, sure ... I'll just wait for you in the common room." He walked off, his step slightly less springy then before.

_Do you think that he thinks I'm thinking of replacing him?_

_I dunno if he thinks you're thinking of replacing him_, said James. _Does Jude think Ron thinks Harry's thinking of replacing him?_

_I think Tom thinks Ron thinks Harry's thinking of replacing him._

_I think you think Tom thinks Ron thinks Harry's thinking of replacing him._

_I think you think I think Tom thinks Ron thinks Harry's thinking of replacing him._

_I think -_

_SHUT UP! _screamed Tom. _I don't care what you asshats think! Stop giving me a headache!_

_Tom ... You don't _have_ a head._

_That wasn't nice_, said Andy.

_I hate you all_, said Saul.

_For once, Saul, we agree_, said Tom. _I am figuratively rubbing my temples right now._

_Tom..._

_Don't you dare...!_

_You don't _have_ any temples._

_This argument is incredibly illogical_, sniffed Malcolm. _Can we all please stop?_

_Good idea,_ agreed Harry.

After what seemed like forever, Nico's name was called.

"Now, di Angelo," said McGonagall. "I don't know what we should do with you. You've already taken your N.E. - very impressive, I must say - yet we can't just let you do nothing!"

"If it is approved by the faculty," said Nico quietly, " I wish to take Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, Charms and Potions, please."

"Yes, yes, that should be fine," McGonagall said. "All in order. You have Ancient Runes now, you may want to get a move on."

"Yes ma'am." Nico gave a short bow and continued towards Harry.

"I forgot you could be polite," said Harry wryly.

"Everyone has a few surprises in them," said Nico delicately, "some just more than others."

Harry frowned playfully. "Since when were you so philosophical?"

Nico shrugged. "One of my best mates is Andy Biersack. He's a very philosophical guy."***

"You got anything now?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," Nico smiled apologetically. "Ancient Runes. Sorry to abandon you, mate."

"No probs," said Harry, waving it off. "Where's the classroom?"

"Seventh floor," said Nico. "God damn it."

"You want me to show you where it is?"

"I'd very much appreciate that."

"_Allez vous ons."_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up just one second. Since when was I plural/formal? You're the only plural one here."

Harry froze.

"You don't hide the whole MPD thing that well," Nico continued. "It's a wonder no-one else knows."

"Please don't tell anyone," Harry all but begged. "I don't need a cause to make them see me any differently than they already do."

There was more to it than that, although it was a big part, and Harry was sure Nico knew it. Still, it wasn't something he liked to say aloud. It always made him feel ... _weak._

Nico gave him a once-over calculatingly. Harry felt the same x-raying sensation he got when Dumbledore looked at him.

"Alright then," he said.

"Really?" asked Harry, surprised. "I didn't think you'd give up that quickly."

Nico paused, hand on the banister. "I've had problems I don't like to tell people either."

They had reached the seventh floor by now.

"You know where to go?" asked Harry.

"Yup," said Nico. "Now be gone, peasants."

_I am not a peasant!_ said Tom.

_Be quiet, peasant_, said Jude.

Harry had a feeling Nico was going to refer to him as a plural entity for a long while yet.

* * *

He went down to the common room.

Hermione was reviewing her notes from her fifth year when a bag abruptly got dropped on the seat next to hers.

"May I sit here?" asked a voice.

Hermione was beginning to really hate that voice.

She looked up and met the dark eyes of one (incredibly handsome) Nico di Angelo.

He wasn't smirking, but Hermione could see faint traces of smugness all around his face - the glint in his eyes, pull of his lips, the slight arch of his eyebrow - and it infuriated her.

"What do you want, di Angelo?" she hissed.

"Oho, someone's feeling feisty." He sat himself down on the chair. "And, isn't it obvious? I wanted to sit here."

"You can't have my notes, if that's what you're asking!"

"Why would I want _your_ notes, when I already have my own, which earned me top marks in my N.E. already?" He turned to the front.

Suddenly, Hermione noticed exactly how good-looking Nico actually was. Sure, she's noticed immediately that he was handsome, his picture was slapped on T.V screens and in newspapers on a regular basis back home, and she had heard no less then twenty-five Muggle girls squeal about how good looking he was in the past summer alone, but it had never quite hit home that _she was sitting next to an international celebrity and sex symbol_. There were girls who would _kill_ to be in this position right now.

Her mind latched onto little details, like how his hair was _really_ well styled - short around the sides, longer at the top. It stuck up slightly, but in a totally good way - how impossibly straight his jawline was, the perfect from his hairline to his perfect eyebrows, and his eyes. Dear Lord his eyes. No words to describe them. Really. ****

Nico turned to look at her. He had a nose piercing, she noticed absently. How had she missed that? A small silver stud in the right side of his nose.

"Like what you see?" he said flirtatiously.

Hermione blushed.

Nico laughed. "No worries, I'm used to being stared at. And I have a girlfriend, whom I adore. And I am many things, but not disloyal. Don't get your hopes up."

"You're impossible," Hermione hissed.

Nico's smile faded. "_I'm_ impossible?" he said softly. "Tell me, Granger, am I the backstabber here?"

His voice was impossibly low; his amazing lips, complete with a perfect cupid's bow, were right next to her ear, and even then she could barely hear it. But she still felt the need to look around the class, to see if anyone had heard.

"Hm?" Hermione felt Nico's lips twitch into a smile. "I'm not the one providing the Headmaster with private information on my best friend. I'm not the one deceiving a person I owe my life to, someone who accepted me unconditionally. I'm not the one who would be left friendless, helpless and in danger if this little titbit of information came out."

He smelt impossibly good; like cinnamon and spice.

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, almost as softly as Nico.

"You know damn well what I mean. As soon as you aren't close to Harry, as soon as you can no longer provide valuable, confidential information on his no-one else has access to, you'd be just another student, just another charge Dumbledore puts in danger year after year in his attempts to create a perfect hero. You'd have outlived your usefulness and Dumbledore would abandon you. Harry won't want to protect you, Dumbledore can't be bothered, your parents _can't_, and as soon as you aren't friends with Weasley, his family won't take you in and you'd be a target of Voldemort's. You'd be dead within a year."

"That's not true," muttered Hermione. "They wouldn't do that to me. They can't."

"Can't they?" Nico pulled away from her, and Hermione shivered. Compared to his overly warm body heat - so different from the icy cold she remembered it being in Diagon Alley over the summer - the classroom felt like it was minus ten degrees Celsius.

"Never underestimate human cruelty, Granger," he said, "or stupidity."

He turned to the front of the classroom, just as Professor Babbling entered the room.

Throughout the entire lesson, and indeed for the rest of the day, Nico's words echoes around her head.

_Never underestimate human cruelty, Granger, or stupidity._

* * *

Harry *returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry had joined in his first year.

"I thought you'd get that, well done," she called over, pointing. at the Captains badge on Harry's chest. "Tell me when you call trials!"

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, "you don't need to try out, I watched you play for five years ..."

"You mustn't start off like that," she said warningly. "For all you know, there's someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends. ..."

Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks's yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close.

An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below.*

Nico and Hermione were already queuing outside. Hermione was carry and armload of heavy books and looking the littlest bit upset. Nico, however, was sitting on the ground - getting started on an essay, by the look of it.

_Wonder what happened to Hermione?_ wondered Tom. _She looks kind of ... upset._

_Probably has something to do with Nico_, Jude said, for once rationally.

Giving a mental hum of agreement, Harry said, "Are you alright Hermione?"

"What?" she looked up startled. "Yes, fine. Just got a lot of homework is all."

Harry's eyes narrowed; Hermione didn't seem to want to make eye contact with him.

"What homework?" he asked, making sure none of his suspicion came through in his voice.

Nico answered for her. "A fifteen inch essay, two translations and we have to read those," he waved his hand towards the books stacked in Hermione's arms, "by Wednesday." He shrugged. "Not that much, really. The translations are short and incredibly easy, and all you have to do in the essay is write big. The reading ... meh. I've read those particular texts before. I can remember it all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You can't just _remember_ something after only reading it once, Nico."

"Hey Granger," said Nico, with mock enthusiasm, "guess what?"

"What?"

"You shouldn't talk about shit you know nothing about!"

The few students who had gathered here made soft 'Ohhhh' noises.

"What makes you think I don't know anything about it?" demanded Hermione.

"Dearest 'Mione, I have, for all intents and purposes, a perfect memory. I remember everything I'm told and everything I tell. Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I ... _find out_. Are you questioning me?"

For some reason, Harry felt this comment was meant to reach far deeper than a single argument about Nico's memory. This was only encouraged when Hermione went pale. Her eyes flickered, momentarily, towards him, and flicked away. It was so short, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed, had he not been paying such close attention.

"Are you _blackmailing_ me, di Angelo?" she hissed.

Nico's eyes were alight with amusement and, for the first time, Harry realised exactly how sadistic his friend could be. "Blackmailing, Granger?" His voice was so soft; Harry had to lean in to hear it. It reminded Harry of that time at Borgin and Burkes a few weeks ago. "No. I am not _blackmailing _you. Blackmailing implies you have something I want. If anything, I'm doing you a favour. Keeping your secrets, reminding you that you aren't infallible. And you _are_ fallible, Granger. The fact that I am _not_ blackmailing you proves it. You are useless to me, Granger. Anything you can do, I can do. Better. Anything you think is _unique_ to you is not. You are _disposable_. Really, I thought I had made you aware of this."

He smiled, and went back to his work.

The classroom door opened shortly afterwards, *and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he said.

Harry looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts.*

"Reminds me of my dad's place," muttered Nico quietly, "except in picture form."

"What was that?" said Snape said sharply.

"This classroom reminds me of my father's house," Nico said, louder this time, "except it has pictures instead of the real thing."

The greasy-haired teacher evidently had no response to that, and turned back to the class.

*"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry's than anyone else's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

_You believe ... like you haven't watched them all come and go, hoping you'd be next_, thought Harry scathingly.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an . in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced."

Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?*

"So it's a hydra," Nico whispered reasonably to him. "No problem."

Harry barely contained a snicker.

*"Your defences," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures - he indicated a few of them as he swept past - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - a bloody mass upon ground.*

Nico raised his hand. "Surely, sir, it would be ... imprudent ... to classify these, not only as _Dark_, but as _Evil_. The world is not black and white, but rather many shades of gray, and so, to classify these things as _Evil_ and other things _Good_, is merely ignorant, and to not make use of them merely shows you to be an idiot."

"Oh really?" said Snape. "And what would you know of this?"

Nico shrugged. "I've used Inferi myself. I would be dead if not for the Cruciatus. The Dementor's Kiss would be a mercy compared to other tortures. Each has a good side, each has a bad. The only difference between these and spells such as _Wingardium Leviosa_ is that more people see the danger in these then in others."

"As interesting a theory though that is, and one many people would disagree with you on, that is not the subject of today's lesson. Now ... you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

It was only Nico and Hermione that raised their hands.

"Finally, someone other than Miss Granger who cares to impart their wisdom on us mere mortals. Mr di Angelo."

"Other than the wand movement, there is nothing that gives your enemy a hint at what you are going to do."

"An adequate answer, one would suppose. *Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" - his gaze lingered maliciously upon Harry once more - "lack."

Harry knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year. He refused to drop his gaze, but glowered at Snape until Snape looked away.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."*

Nico raised his hand. "What if we can already cast nonverbally?"

"Do it wandlessly."

"And if we can do that?"

"Do both."

"And if we can do _that_?"

"I highly doubt there is anyone in the room who can accomplish them all, di Angelo. Five points from Gryffindor for lying," Snape said, sneering.

"Yeah, that's where you're wrong," Nico said boldly. "Near enough everyone who's been at my school longer than a month can cast wandlessly, and if you've been there for more than six you can cast silently _and_ nonverbally. It's the basics."

"Well then you can go around helping everyone else."

*Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud.*

Nico walked over to stand by Hermione.

"Go _away_ di Angelo," she said. "I'm trying to cast."

"I can see that," he replied. "You're just not doing it correctly."

"I don't need your tutelage!"

"You are struggling to do something at sixteen to do something I could do at half your age. You kind of do."

"Piss off!"

"Fine."

He walked over to Neville. "Need any help?" he offered friendlily.

Neville smiled. "Yeah, please."

"Okay, just show me what you're doing."

Neville tried to cast a silent Jelly-Legs Jinx and failed.

"Okay, so," Nico said, "you're focusing too much on trying to channel your magic that you're forgetting the wand movement. Just practice that."

Neville did.

"Okay, perfect. Now, keeping that in mind, try and cast it ... No, no, you've sped it up. You aren't doing it it down ... That's right ... Perfect!"

Neville sent a perfect Jelly-Legs Jinx at Hermione, who didn't quite manage a shield.

"It shows a lot about the incompetence of the rest of you if _Longbottom_ managed it before anyone else," said Snape. "Get a move on!"

"Sir," said Nico, "does Neville not get any house points for it? It's an impressive feat, by Hogwarts's standards."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to mean. Point is, Neville deserves house points."

"He had help."

"Help _you_ didn't give him. Evidently, if you cannot help students, you are just as incompetent a teacher as you claim Longbottom is as a student."

"You _dare ..._"

"Are you trying to look intimidating?" Nico mocked. "You like a kitten pretending to be a tiger." He looked distastefully at Snape's hair. "A kitten in desperate need of a bath, too."

"Detention!"

"I'm not under your school rules," Nico all but sang. "No rule against sassing a teacher at _my_ school."

Snape growled, but turned away.

It was only a short while later that things returned to how they were a mere five minutes earlier; *Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here - let me show you -"

He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yelled, "Protego!"

His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter . . . not even 'the Chosen One.'"*

"What is Dumbledore playing at?" Nico wondered. "If you ever taught at _my_ school and taught like this, you'd be out on your ear within a month."

"Are you _implying_ something, di Angelo?" Snape said. The room was deadly silent, yet Nico grinned easily.

"I was not _implying_ anything," he replied. "I was _saying_ that your teaching methods are appalling and it's a wonder there are _any_ Aurors or Healers with this kind of instruction."

The bell rang.

_Hmm_, thought Harry. _That was quick._

*"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.

"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione, frowning at Ron. "What made you?"*

"Really, Granger?" Nico drawled. "Aren't you supposed to be smart? I thought it was obvious."

"Oh really?" Hermione fumed. "What was the reason?"

_Dear God she gets on my nerves_, said Jude.

Harry was used to this; the majority of his voices reminded him of Draco Malfoy sometimes, what with their attitude towards Hermione and Ron. For some reason, they just didn't like them. As Tom would phrase it: _They just didn't seem _genuine_._

He never bothered to ask what they meant by_ genuine._

Nico rolled his eye. "He was about to jinx Harry, in case you didn't notice."

"That doesn't -"

"Yeah!" Harry agreed quickly, trying to diffuse an argument. For once, he agreed with his voices: Hermione really _was_ getting on his nerves.

* * *

Hermione felt her contempt for Nico di Angelo grow by the second.

Who did he think he was, coming to Hogwarts and changing everything? Showing her up and disrespecting everyone and everything?

Of course, the fact that her heart did slight jumping jacks whenever he looked at her didn't help.

Harry was still talking. "Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change?" he whined. "*Did you near him talking about he Dark Arts? He loves them! All that _unfixed_, _indestructible_ stuff -"

"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded bit like you."

"Like _me_?"

"Yes, when you were telling us what it was like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorising a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth remembering as _The Standard Book of Spells_ that he did not argue.*

That didn't stop Nico, though.

"While they may have been _similar_ in essentials, 'Mione dearest," he said, sounding bored, "there is a big difference between warning people, letting them know what the risks are, in a way that shows you have respect for them and fear of what they can do, and speaking about them _lovingly_, the way one may speak about a family member or cherished possession. Many things rely purely on tone."

"Don't call me _'Mione dearest_," Hermione hissed.

Nico merely smiled charmingly, but his bright white and unnaturally sharp teeth - Hermione could have sworn they weren't that sharp before - made it seem more like a predatory grin then anything.

*"Harry! Hey, Harry!"

Harry looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on the previous year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying towards him holding a roll of parchment.*

Harry heard Nico mutter something like, "Why am I always interrupted?" but ignored him.

*"For you," panted Sloper. "Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Harry, thinking privately that Sloper would be very lucky to get back on the team. "I'll let you know."

"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend -"

But Harry was not listening; he had just identified the thin, slanted writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione* (Nico hadn't stopped in the first place) *unrolling the parchment as he went.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at eight p.m. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops._

"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Ron, who had read the message over Harry's shoulder and was looking perplexed.*

"Password," Harry said absently.

After break, Hermione left to go to Arithmancy while Harry and Ron went off to the common room, grudgingly resigning themselves to doing Snape's (no doubt impossibly difficult) homework assignment. Harry sighed at the mere thought of it.

Nico was lounging in one of the chairs by the fire-place with one of his legs slung over the arm of the chair. He was skimming an Ancient Runes text and making notes on it in a biro pen.

"_Buenas noches_," he said, upon noticing them.

Harry frowned. "But it's not night time."

"It is somewhere in the world," said Nico, scratching out a sentence in his textbook.

"Point," Harry conceded. "So, what's Snape's homework like?"

"I found it impossibly easy. However, given your previous instruction and the fact that this is _Britain_, you'll find it incredibly complex." He added another note in his textbook, tongue poking out between his lips.

As it turned out, he could not have been more correct. They had still not finished by the time Nico left for his after-lunch lesson (Care of Magical Creatures, which Harry felt incredibly guilty about not taking) and then it was even slower going without his tutelage, despite Hermione's return. They only just finished in time for the afternoon's double potions.

* * *

As it turned out, Nico was not the only sixth-year taking the class. There was another – a short, blonde girl by the name of Tracy Davis.

Hagrid came out of his cabin five minutes late for the lesson. "Aligh' class," he rumbled, "today we're goin' teh be goin' over Hippogriffs. Yeh," he inclined his head towards Tracey Davis, "may remember 'em from yeh third year. Have yeh studied Hippogriffs before?"

The last question was aimed at Nico.

He nodded. "It was a few years ago now," he said, "when I was about ten. We have pegasi, though, and they're fairly similar."

"True," said Hagrid. "Alrigh' Miss Davis, yeh're up firs'. This is Witherwings. Yeh can try with him."

"He looks like the big grey Hippogriff Malfoy wanted killed in third year," said Tracey. "I like him already."

"Well, go on with yeh!"

Nico moved closer to Hagrid as Tracey bowed to Witherwings, making continuous eye contact.

"Harry, Ron and Hermione wanted me to tell you something," he said quietly.

Hagrid snorted contemptuously. "Oh? An' what migh' tha' be? Feelin' sorry for me, are they?"

"No," said Nico, shaking his head. "They wanted to tell you, but they didn't have time yesterday. They said they were really sorry, but they couldn't fit Care into their timetables without having an obscene amount of homework. They really had to prioritise, and Care just didn't fit in with their future desired job. I'm sure they'll want to apologise in person, but they asked I tell you."

"Oh," said Hagrid, looking considerably brighter. "Alrigh' then."

Of course, Harry, Ron and Hermione had never said anything of the sort, but Nico wasn't above lying to make sure he got his way. And if lying now made sure he didn't in the future, then all the better.

Nico smiled. All the pieces were slowly falling into place.

* * *

When Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived in the corridor that had, for so long been Snape's, they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T level. *Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but shield charms are old hat, of course, for us old DA lags ... and how are you, Ron – Hermione?"*

Just as Ron opened his mouth to reply, Nico joined them.

"Cutting it a bit close there," Harry muttered, as the dungeon door was opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out the door.

Nico ignored him in favour of returning Ernie's silent nod of greeting.

As they filed into the room, Slughorn's great walrus moustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Harry, Nico and Zabini with particular enthusiasm.

The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapours and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something that ... he wasn't quite sure where he had smelled it, or what it was, but it reminded him of _magic_. Just generally _magic_. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily. Even Nico, quite possibly the most emotionless person he knew, had a slight smile on his face - not a smirk or psychotic grin, but a genuine smile. Harry could only recall a few times in which he had seen that smile on Nico's face - actually, it was only whenever Lacy came up that even a hint of it came about.

_It's a love potion_, said Malcolm. _It emits the smells you love the most_.

_What's the last one?_ asked Harry. _I just think it smells like magic._

_A certain blonde you quite like._

_Lou_, Harry thought, before quickly dismissing the thought. He didn't like Lou. He didn't. Really.

_Sure._ Jude smirked.

Nico, being the battle-hardened, ADHD genetic mutation he was, took about a half-second to notice everything in the room: the cauldrons, their contents, the smells, all the colours – visible light, ultra violet and infra red – and, possibly the most important, everyone's reactions. Most were, of course, understandably dazed – by the golden cauldron's smell especially. Shortly afterwards, some of them changed: Malfoy and Hermione shook it off and acted focused; Nott looked scared and glanced hurriedly at ... Zabini, Nico thought.

He smirked internally. _Someone's got a crush_.

Nico felt sorry for the boy – or at least, as far as his borderline psychopathic empathy quality went. Magical Britain was so backwards; Nico wouldn't be surprised if being gay or bisexual was still punishable by death. Nico couldn't really criticize people's reactions to it though; even he allowed himself to smile at the smell. It smelt like home – of fresh-baked cookies, metal and, most of all, like Lacy: a strange blend of multiple perfumes and flowers and coffee.

If there was one thing Nico had really missed since coming to Britain, it was Lacy.

He mentally shook his head – if there was one thing he had learnt in his life, it was that wishing for something didn't make it come true; make it happen. You had to work for it – and if there was one thing Nico di Angelo had done in his life, it was work. Work to make his life better, work to reach his goals, work to keep the life he had from getting worse, work to stay _alive_. For people like him, it wasn't that easy.

This entire revelation had some and gone within a second, yet for Nico, it had seemed like an hour.

*"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapours* (Nico made a mental note to inform Magical Britain of the types of cauldron that _don't_ let smoke out). *"Scales out, everyone, and don't forget your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ ..."

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything - nor's Ron - we didn't realise we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T, you see -"

"Ah yes, Professor McGonagall did mention ... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stack of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts ..."*

"It's like a right of passage for old people," muttered Nico out of the corner of his mouth to Harry, "you have to call everyone below the age of thirty 'my dear' or something."

Harry snickered.

Slughorn returned with two very battered looking copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

Nico grabbed Harry's copy off him as soon as Slughorn's back was turned. "You have really weird names here, you know?" he muttered.

_Non taken_, said Tom.

"I swear they're all pseudonyms ..." He started flicking through the pages. "Makes sense, I suppose," he murmured to himself. "Seems like something he'd do ..."

"Who would?" said Harry.

"Hmm?"

"You said something."

Nico wordlessly handed him back his book but didn't reply, as Slughorn was back to the front of the class.

"Now then," he said, inflating his bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kinds of thing you ought to be able to make after your N.E. ..."

Nico yawned.

"You ought to have heard of them," Slughorn continued, "even if you haven't made them yet. Anyone heard of this one?"

He indicated to the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione's well practised hand hit the air, closely followed by Nico's, except far more lazily, reflecting the face of its owner.

Slughorn pointed to Hermione.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," said Hermione.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known. ... Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too ... Who can - ?"

Both Nico's and Hermione's hands were in the air again.

He pointed to Nico.

"Polyjuice potion," he said, sounding bored, as per usual.

Harry, too, had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance of the second cauldron.

_You should have put your hand up!_ whined Malcolm.

_Shut up Malc._

_Don't call me that Judith_.

_My name isn't \- Judith!_

_Shut up guys._

Whatever Tom.

"Excellent, excellent," said Slughorn, looking slightly bemused as he pointed to the next cauldron and the same two hands went up. "Now this one here ... Alright, both together!"

"Amortentia," they both said; Hermione eagerly, Nico drawlingly.

"It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.

"It creates the strongest sense of infatuation and obsession with the person unfortunate enough to be dosed with it," said Nico.

"Quite right, both of you! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And by the steam rising in characteristic spirals!" said Hermione enthusiastically.

"More by smell, for me," said Nico, less enthusiastically.

"That too," said Hermione. "I can smell freshly mowed grass ... and new parchment ... and ..."

She trailed off, blushing.

Nico leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

Hermione blushed an even deeper red and glared at him.

Nico sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.

"My I ask your name, my dear?" asked Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment. "I already know Mr di Angelo's here, of course, but I would very much appreciate it."

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"I -"

"She is," Nico interrupted. "Hermione's grandfather was a squib - Hector Dagworth-Granger's uncle."

Hermione tried (and failed) to conceal her shock.

"I'll assume you didn't know that, my dear?" asked Slughorn.

"No sir." Hermione shook her head. "How did you know it?" She looked slightly suspiciously at Nico.

He smiled. "If there's one problem with having a perfect memory is that it is almost impossible to read the same book twice. As a result, I've read almost every book out there. One of them was on British Nobility, and, seeing as the Dagworth-Granger family don't discriminate against Squibs, your grandfather, father and yourself are still on the family tree. It's right there, if you care to look."

"Well," said Harry, "you learn something new every day."

"Indeed," said Slughorn. "So you'd be Muggleborn, would you Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded.

"'One of my best friends is Muggleborn, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes sir," said Harry proudly.

"Well, you can both have twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, for good work." Slughorn smiled.

Malfoy looked rather as he had the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You _are_ the best in the year - I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!"

Hermione smiled but made a 'shush'ing gesture so they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

"Feeling a bit jealous, are we?" whispered Nico to Ron.

Ron shushed him.

"She's not good enough for you, you know," he continued, even quieter. "She's not completely honest with anyone. You know that, right?"

"What are you talking about?" Ron hissed.

"I know about what you and Hermione are doing for Dumbledore."

Ron paled. Time seemed to slow down; while he and Nico talked, only half a second seemed to have passed.

"How did you know about that?" he said. "Did Hermione tell?"

"Of course not!" Nico scoffed. "She's far too proud to even contemplate informing everyone of her top-secret mission she was hand-picked for."

"Then how did you find out?"

"Dumbledore is proud. He believes no-one will try and breach his mind, so his shields stay to a minimum. You have no idea how easy it was."

Ron nodded.

"Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"His objectives aren't as pure as you may wish to believe."

Ron paled more. Everything Nico was implying, and even outright saying, were echoes of his own fears. "So ... he's _using_ me?"

"And Granger too, but, really, she's far less rational then you. You are far more likely to listen to reason."

"Does Harry know?"

"About what? That he's being used? No. Ignorance is bliss, and he has his own problems -"

Ron wondered if Nico knew about any problems he didn't.

"- and he may act irrationally if he knew. Better to let him live in ignorance for a while then let him do something that may hurt him eventually."

Ron nodded. "Hey Nico?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you doing this?" He waved his hand around the room. "As in, how are you slowing down time? That's not possible."

Nico smiled. "Time is what you perceive it to be."

He turned away, and Ron had the strange feeling of moving forward, yet not. Like how, if you stand on the beach as a wave comes in, then stand in the same place as the wave goes out. He knew he wasn't moving, but he _felt_ he was.

"Amortentia," Slughorn was saying, "does not really create _love,_ of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, as Mr di Angelo said, it will only cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is possibly the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room - oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking sceptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love ...

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

* * *

It had just gone eight-thirty in the morning at Camp Unity, and Percy Jackson was, as per usual, sitting in his study doing paperwork. Really, if he had _known_ how much paperwork was involved in this job he ... well, he probably would still have taken it.

Percy Jackson was not, as the book series may lead you to believe, an idiot. Actually, his IQ was 178, higher than Jason's, Leo's Hazel's, Frank's and even Nico's (if only by five points). The only person in Camp who had an IQ was higher than his was Annabeth (yes, he really trumped all bar one of Athena's kids - bet she was pissed). He knew everything that was going on everywhere that concerned him - where Theo was, which monster was re-spawning in Tartarus, the amount of Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze in the forges, everything. Recently, he was getting constant updates on what was in Britain.

Obviously, Percy couldn't just keep all of this in his head - it was written on pieces of paper.

That was what all of his paperwork was - little tidbits of information on what everyone was up to.

It was in this that Percy Jackson was as powerful as an Olympian god - he knew everything important about everyone that mattered. Right now, his focus was on one Albus Dumbledore - or, more specifically, what he was doing to Harry Potter.

Percy had become quite fond of the boy that reminded him of someone he had once known, when he was younger. He shook his head fondly ... He knew his little brother had no idea quite how similar to Harry he was.

Nico hadn't actually been that hyperactive at eight years old - it was an act, and one that Percy had seen through quickly. He was far more perceptive then anyone truly realised, and that was just the way he liked it.

"Albus Dumbledore," he muttered, shifting through papers. "Ah! Here we go ... Born in the summer of 1881, exact date unknown ... First-born son of Percival Dumbledore, Pureblood, and Kendra Dumbledore, Muggleborn ... Head Boy, prefect, "The Most Brilliant Student To Ever Attend Hogwarts" ... so he was about mediocre by any half-decent standards ... Romantic feelings for Gellert Grindlewald ... Neglected sister Ariana when she was in his care ... she was killed shortly after in a fight between Aberforth Dumbledore - Albus Dumbledore's younger brother - and Gellert Grindlewald and Albus Dumbledore ... Potter, Potter ... Where can I find information on his relationship with the Potters?!"

Immediately, the page flew towards him.

Percy smirked. "Thank you, Athena."

A soft breeze that smelt of olives filled the room.

Percy's eyes brightened maliciously. "My, my ... That _is _interesting. I wonder what other information _Professor_ Dumbledore is hiding ...?"

* * *

**So many stars jee whizz.**

*** I wanted Nico to have dabbled in music but, because I can't be arsed writing my own songs, I've stolen ones I particularly enjoy/could see Nico writing. These will mostly be by Black Veil Brides (as this one is) or Avenged Sevenfold, as I have always viewed Nico's voice, at least after breaking, as being something like Matt Shadows's or Andy Biersack's. It may differ, though.**

**** I didn't want Nico's only role in film to be imaginary films I had made up (or bent FF plotlines for, as is in the case with the Hollywood Drama trilogy. This will explain why the title is so shitty yet there will be a few good jokes cracked, because I totally stole it from the fic _The Way Out_, whose author I cannot remember at this point in time). I could totally see him as playing Gus in TFIOS. Thoughts?**

***** Because I adore Andy, I wanted to put him in here. No other reason. Don't like it? Ignore it. It doesn't play a major part (except maybe for a few moments of comedy later on).**

****** Look up a picture of Andy Biersack (no makeup 2014****). You'll know what I mean then.**

**Well, as you can tell from this chapter, Hermione, Dumbles and Ron aren't the only ones going to get bashed; there is minor Nico bashing to. In this story, Nico, Percy, Annabeth and all our favourite demigods are conniving bastards and damn proud of it. I actually kind of like Ron - I like him more than Harry, Dumbledore and even Hermione. Harry is too angst-filled, Dumbledore is too manipulative, and Hermione just needs to lighten up. Really. So, more Hermione bashing then Ron bashing, I'm afraid.**

**That's not to say he won't be bashed though.**

**All reviews are appreciated; constructive criticism even more so. If there was anything you'd like to see more/less of, please tell.**

**Cheers!**

**DD.**


	9. Something You Should Know

**Hey guys, me again. I know two A/Ns in the space of as many updates (I think) is a bit outrageous, but I have something I really need to tell you all.**

**I won't be reading reviews on this story anymore. I've received quite a few flames for this story and, as much as I appreciate a lot of your support - the grand majority of you have been absolutely lovely, and it's really heartwarming - I'm going through a tough time with family and such right now - my mother and I aren't talking anymore, my dad may be suing my mum for custody of my sister and me (although it's not definite), my grandfather (who has Parkinsons) has recently been diagnosed with cancer, I have some BIG exams coming up, and one of my friends self-harms and I suspect is developing anorexia (I also went to my school with concerns about this a few months ago, and she only started talking to me again about a week ago). My point is, I'm already at low morale right now, I don't need flames added to my problems too. If you really want to talk to me, PM me. If I start getting hate messages through my PMs too, this story will be discontinued. It's a shame, really; I had quite a few ideas for it.**

**To those of you who have been supportive of me, who have given constructive feedback, followed/favourited and generally been lovely people (which is the majority of you), I thank you for that. But I really can't handle the flames right now. It normally wouldn't hurt me, but I have enough first-world shit to deal with as it is, and us rich white girls can't handle serious problems.**

**(For those that don't realise, that was a racist joke. It was against myself, though, so it's okay.)**

**For the reasons outlined above, updates will be sporadic.**

**Y'all just keep bein' y'all,**

**~ DD**

**P.S. I'm not going to be stopping writing entirely, don't worry. I'm just not going to be doing it ****_as much_****. I have some other stories that I want to get going (the only published one is ****_A Bed of Roses_****), so I'll probably be concentrating more on those. I don't know, though; I can write more than one thing at once.**


	10. All the Pieces

**Chapter Nine - All The Pieces  
****A.K.A. The House of Gaunt (****&amp; The Half-Blood Prince ctd.)**

**Random musing for the chapter: Why do they slant the square tiles in the bathroom in some places so that they look like diamonds? Is it meant to be fancy? To me it just looks like they don't know how to place tiles properly.**

**I don't know if anyone here has ever tried listening to Spotify in France, but all the ads are in French, and I understand maybe three words of it. Goddamit Spotify! Stop destroying my faith in my language abilities!**

**Okay, so I've decided to finally start updating again. Now, I have a question for you all (please vote on my poll).**

**You all said you wanted the story to end _somewhere in the middle_ (poll result was 6 for that, three for 'happily' and one vote for 'tragically', which ironically was my vote). Now, having given this some thought, I realised that, should it end tragically, I can make a sequel that involves some kind of time travel to make it end either happily or somewhere in the middle.**

**So, your choice. Sequel or no sequel?**

**Yours,**

**~ Evil Nightingale (yes to new pen name, or no?)**

**P.S. Some of the formatting got fucked up somewhere along the way with the uploading here, so sorry about any mistakes. I've tried to correct them all but it's five past midnight and idegaf any more.**

* * *

"Sir," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk, "you haven't told us what's in this one." The potion was splashing about merrily; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

*"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious potion called* -"

"Felix Felicis," said Nico. "Liquid Luck."

"Very true," said Slughorn. "And I take it you also know what it does?"

Nico rolled his eyes. "Judging by the name, one would assume it makes you lucky."

*The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Quite right. Take another ten points for Gryffindor, Yes, it is a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find all your endeavours tend to succeed ... at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people take it all the time, sir?" asked Terry Boot eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know ... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally ..."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.

"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoons taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was play-acting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.*

_Oh he is _so_ play-acting_, scoffed Jude.

*"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was a silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organised competitions ... sporting events, for instance, examinations or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only ... and watch how that ordinary say becomes extraordinary."*

_Nice speech_, said Tom. _How long were you practising in the mirror for?_

"I wonder how long he was practising that speech for?" muttered Nico to Harry.

"One of the Voices just said something similar to that," Harry replied. It was weird, talking about his mental deficiencies in public.

"Which one?"

"Tom. He's the snarky one."

"Tell him that I like how he thinks."

_I'm flattered,_ said Tom.

"He's flattered."

"Good to know."

_'_I_ like this guy_,_'_ said Tom, to no-one in particular.

_'We don't care,'_ said Jude.

Slughorn was back to being brisk. "... by turning to page ten of _Advanced Potion Making._ We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Drought of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

Nico took about two seconds to set up and start. His ingredients were already on the desk, along with all of his materials - _Huh?_ thought Harry. _When did that happen?_ \- and he started chopping his valerian roots lightning quick.

He caught Harry's eyes, still chopping, and made a head jerking movement like _Well hurry up_.

_'I agree,'_ said Malcolm. _'__I want that liquid luck!'_

_'Me too!'_ agreed Jude. _'__Think how many pranks we could pull!'_

_'We are not using an entire bottle of Felix Felicis for _pranks_!'_ exclaimed Tom._ 'We're going to use it bit by bit until we can overthrow Fudge, defeat Voldemort and take over the world! Duh!'_

_'We could use it to kill everyone,_' Saul suggested.

_'_I _think we should save it for the war_,_' _said James importantly.

_'We _are_ at war, dummy!'_ snapped Tom.

_'I refuse to use Liquid Luck for world domination, Tommy boy!'_

_'Can we all just get along?'_ pleaded Andy.

_'Shut it fag!' _snapped Jude.

_'What did you just call Andy?'_ said Tom.

_'Isn't it incredibly obvious that he's gay?'_

_'Dude, that's over the line,'_ said James.

_'You don't call someone that!'_ said Tom.

_'You call people names all the time_,_'_ replied Jude petulantly.

_'I draw a line _somewhere_!'_ Tom exclaimed. _And there is _nothing_ wrong with being gay! You hear me? Nothing!_

_'I never said there was!'_

_'Dear Lord above can we all just shut up?'_ snapped James.

Harry wasn't paying attention to the inner turmoil of his mind. He was more focused on deciphering the instructions underneath the previous owner's handwriting.

*Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam.*

Nico had progressed furthest - his potion was a light shade of lilac by now, as opposed to Hermione's smooth, blackcurrant-coloured liquid that the book described as an ideal half-way stage.

By now having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was incredibly irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner.

The Sopophorous Bean was proving to be a real bugger to cut up, and the outright war going on in his head wasn't helping.

_You're an arsehole!_ Tom was screaming.

_You're a future dictator!_

_How is that a bad thing? I'd be an amazing dictator! And when I take over the world, you will be the first thing I illegalize._

_I'm _you_, you stupid bastard! You can't illegalize me!_

_Can we all just calm down? _begged Malcolm.

_I hate you all!_ said Saul (nothing out of the ordinary there).

"Crush it," Nico whispered. "It releases more of the juice."

"Hm?" Harry looked up.

Nico offered him a silver knife with one hand, stirring with the other. His potion was almost impossibly clear while still being pink.

"Thanks," he said, thinking. The previous owner had written to crush it too ... maybe he was right about something else?

He crushed it, and it immediately it exuded so much juice he was amazed the shrivelled bean could have held it all.

*His annoyance at the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According to the book, he had to stir counter-clockwise until the potion turned clear as water, According to the addition the previous owner had made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counter-clockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice?*

Giving a quick scan of the room - specifically for one person - he saw exactly what he wanted to. Nico's was almost transparent, and he was stirring counter-clockwise then ... yes! Clockwise! Hermione, however, was still stirring, and her potion resolutely remaining purple.

Harry started stirring.

_One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... and other way ..._

Immediately, the potion turned the palest pink.

Nico smiled at him, but Hermione, red-faced and bushy-haired - even more than usual - from the potion fumes, demanded, "How are you doing that?"

Before Harry could answer, Nico said, "He's taking initiative."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nico smiled and turned back to his perfect potion.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing, regardless of Hermione's look of betrayal.

The voices had finally quietened down.

_Hey guys?_ he asked.

_Yeah Harry?_ replied Malcolm quietly.

_What do you think of this old potions book?_

_If it works, then does it matter?_

Harry nodded, and kept stirring.

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid liquorice. Taking another quick look around he saw that, apart from Nico's, no-one potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated. So what if he didn't get the potion? With this book, he'd be able to brew his own!

_That's the spirit!_ said Andy, not as perkily as usual.

_What's the matter, Andy?_ asked Harry, concerned.

_Tom and Jude aren't talking to each other,_ James informed him. _They've both gone to sleep._

'Gone to sleep' was the term used when the voices refused to say anything, put in any input, or even be present.

_That's not good_, said Harry. Last time there had been an argument between those two, Harry'd had incredibly bad migraines for a month.

_We'll stop them from hurting you Harry_, James promised.

_Thanks James_, Harry said, relieved.

"And time's ... up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

He moved slowly in between the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir, or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, Nico and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. He was clearly about to go on, but Harry stopped him.

"Please, sir," he said, "you haven't seen Nico's yet."

"Oh yes," said Slughorn, "sorry my boy ... It appears it's a draw!"

He looked ecstatic.

"It is clear you have inherited your mothers' Potions talents, both of you!"

Nico looked up sharply at the mention of his mother.

_It's not surprising, really_, said Tom softly.

_You talking to me again?_ Harry said snarkily.

_He lost his mother too, you know, and I doubt there were many people to tell him anything about her._

Harry quietened. It was true. Harry had been lucky enough to, once he was in the Magical World finally, to find many people to tell him things about his parents. And, repetitive as they were, Harry never tired of hearing them. Nico though ... Before recently, Harry had never heard of a Maria di Angelo, yet, if Slughorn were to be believed, she died fighting against Voldemort. That deserved respect - especially since she had died fighting, instead of hiding in her home, like his parents. Everyone remembered James and Lily Potter and _their_ sacrifice, but no-one remembered Maria di Angelo, and maybe countless others like her.

_Don't think like that_, said James. _Your parents were heroes; they were trying to save you. They stood up to Voldemort and remained strong, even in their final moments. For you, for everyone._

Harry accepted this, but still the thought of many other forgotten war heroes, maybe those who had fought harder, fought more, _done_ more than his parents fading from people's minds until they might as well have not existed; their children being abandoned, forgotten, maybe never to receive even their Hogwarts letters, haunted him. Children doomed to never learn of their parents or their sacrifice, to live their lives unaware of what the world would have been like without their parents, how much worse it could have been. Maybe there were a few like him, who were told their parents were drunks that died in a car crash. Those children would forever have the memory of their parents tainted in their eyes. They would never know what really happened.

The rest of the class seemed blissfully unaware of the major revelation that had just occurred to Harry.

"They were dab hands at Potions," Slughorn was saying, "Lily and Maria. Both so incredibly talented."

Nico looked both sad and interested at this.

"I will just have to get another vial," Slughorn continued, leaving.

The disappointment was clear on Nico's face.

"Hoping for information on your mum?" asked Harry softly.

"Yeah," said Nico. "Only person I know that can tell me anything was my father, and ... well ... we aren't on speaking terms."

Harry knew this. If Nico's dad was who he thought he was, Harry wouldn't want anything to do with him either.

_Damn straight you wouldn't_, said James. _I can't imagine what Maria went through if she was with him ... if he _is_ Nico's dad, which he may not be._

_Personally, I find it inspirational that Maria went through so much just to win the war_, said Tom. _I mean, could you imagine having to have a kid with that monster, let alone two?_

_Somehow, I don't think the whole kid-thing was Maria's idea_, added Saul, the first thing he had said bar something along the lines of 'I hate you all' since ... well ... forever. _And I bet you Nico knows that._

_I'm surprised you said something other then 'I hate you all' to us, Saul_, said Tom. Tom and Saul were actually very friendly (or as friendly as two voices could be). They were usually on the same page (that is, having contemptuous thoughts on everyone except themselves - or even themselves, in Saul's case).

_I still hate you all._

_I expect nothing less,_ said Malcolm lightly.

"How did you do that?" Ron whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

"I love how you don't bother to ask Nico even though we got exactly the same results," he whispered back, because Malfoy was within earshot.

"I don't understand why you would _want_ to ask anything off him," said Hermione stiffly. "I mean, it's not like he gives you a straight answer for anything."

For some reason, this made Ron bristle. "You're just upset because they did better then you for once!" he said.

"He probably cheated!"

"'He' is right here, Hon, and I can assure you that 'he' used perfectly legal methods of making a potion."

Harry picked up on the fact that Nico did not specify _which_ potion he made legally.

Hermione glared at him, while Ron nodded in greeting. "So how _did_ you do it?" he asked.

Nico shrugged. "Dunno 'bout Harry -" _Liar_, said Tom. _There is no way he doesn't know._ "- but mine's an old family secret."

"How did you do it Harry?" Ron continued, for once realising that he probably shouldn't ask.

Hermione glared at him. "Yes, Harry, how _did_ you do it?"

"Hermione," Harry said, as though talking to a child, "if you want me to reply, you shouldn't make it seem like you're going to murder me if I do."

"I do not look like I am about to murder you!"

"You kinda do," said Ron.

The Trio continued to bicker, unaware of the tell-tale smirk on the face of one American that simply stood still behind them as they walked towards the Great Hall for dinner.

The corridor emptied soon after, as everyone was at dinner.

That is, except for two people.

"So," said Lou Torrington, "how are things?"

"Better then I would've expected," mused Nico. "It seems like their friendship was fracturing a bit before this. Perhaps I was just a catalyst."

"Catalysts are a necessity in the body if it's to function properly."

"Indeed."

"What do you plan to do?"

"About what?"

"Granger? Weasley? Dumbledore? Potter?"

Nico smiled suggestively at her. "On the topic of Potter, there seems to be a bit of flirting between you two."

Lou had an equally suggestive smile on her face. "To an outsider, it looks like there is a lot of flirting between you and Hermione."

Nico's smile broadened. "Really? Good. The more people think that, the better."

"May I ask why?"

"Think about it. Weasley is so obvious in his crush on Granger, it's a wonder it can't be seen from Mars. If Ron believes I'm taking Hermione away from him, that'll put stress on his friendship with Hermione, and Harry will try to make them both see sense, alienating them both. Thus fractures this horrible friendship and we can start loosening Dumbledore's hold over practically everything."

"Why do all the frilly bits? Why not just outright say 'They're spying on you?'"

Nico shook his head. "Harry's too loyal. He wouldn't believe me. It'd just drive him closer to Dumbledore and make it harder for us to help him. This way, it's easier on him, less obvious to Dumbledore, and ultimately the best way to do things."

Lou's smile changed to malicious. "You manipulative bastard."

He laughed. "It wasn't even my idea, mostly. I'm just carrying it out."

"Who's idea was it then?"

"Percy's."

"It astounds me how many people are unaware of the borderline evil genius that's within that man; even those who know him just assume he has his moments but is ultimately a bit dim. It's miraculous."

"That's what makes him so dangerous: no one suspects the jester over the king."

"Is he not a king of some form?"

"A king in the art of manipulation."

"Then what are you?"

"The Duke."

"How very humble."

"I am many things, milady, but humble is not one."

"That much is obvious."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

Lou frowned. "For what?"

"For the Golden Trio to come to an end."

"I give it till the end of Christmas."

Nico nodded. "That sounds about right."

"When is Lacy arriving?"

"When she wants to arrive."

"And how long do you reckon that will be?"

Nico shrugged. "I'm not in control of her life; I don't know what may come up and change things."

"You miss her."

"Very true," he acknowledged.

"You love her."

"Is that a question?"

"More of a statement, although I do ask why."

Nico smiled. "_Do not fall in love with me/For I am falser than vows made in wine_."

Lou looked at him incredulously. "Did you just quote Shakespeare?"

"I did."

"That does not answer my question."

"I just told you that I did -"

"Not that question. The 'why' question."

"I thought my answer was pretty obvious."

"Not to me."

"I do not know."

"Don't know what?"

"A lot of things."

"Is one of them why Lacy loves you?"

"Indeed it is."

They had started walking over this brief exchange of statements, and were now just outside of the Great Hall.

Lou stopped, hand on door knob.

"She's lucky to have you," she said softly. "Anyone would be."

She walked inside, towards her own friends.

Nico smiled, and walked towards the (still bickering, apparently) Golden Trio.

"I s'pose you think I cheated?" Harry was saying angrily.

Hermione's face was stony. "Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.

"He only followed instructions different to ours," said Ron.

For a millisecond, Nico wondered if he could, perhaps, help Ron. Granger ... well ... she was too far gone. Too deep in Dumbledore's pocket, too prideful, too unaware of her own faults. Ron, however, seemed to be decent. He seemed loyal.

Nico shook that thought off. No. For the plan to work, Harry had to have no links to Dumbledore whatsoever, R- _Weasley_ included.

Still, Nico didn't want the poor guy murdered.

"By your own logic, milady," he said, sitting down next to Hermione because he knew it would annoy her, "You cheated too. Your work was copied directly from a book, as opposed to a variant of a book. What is there for food? I'm starving."

"Why are you here?" she asked irritably.

"Would you rather I leave?" he asked politely.

"Yes!" said Hermione.

"No!" said Ron and Harry.

"Two to one, my dear," said Nico, smiling. "I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me."

"Well I don't what to sit next to someone who takes instructions from an old book anyway!" said Hermione.

Just as she was about to get up to leave, another voice interrupted. "Hang on," said Ginny Weasley, close to Harry's left. "Did I hear right? Someone's been taking orders from someone who wrote in a book?"

Nico actually had nothing against Ginny Weasley. She seemed a little over dominating, and perhaps trying too hard to make up for her behaviour in her first year (which wasn't a bad thing at all) but she was a decent person who cared deeply for her friends and had no over-the-top affiliation to Dumbledore. No, Ginevra Weasley wouldn't be a problem at all. Nico smiled at her, and she returned it.

"It's nothing," said Harry reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary." Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Nico look at him sharply at that.

_He knows something_, said Tom. _Something unpleasant, by the looks of things._

Harry put it down as one more thing to ask about.

"It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled in," he continued.

"But you're doing what is says?"

Nico rolled his eyes and mouthed something Harry couldn't see.

*"I just tried a few tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny -"

"Ginny's got a point," said Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check there's nothing odd about it. I man, with all these funny instructions, who knows?"

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and raised her wand.*

"How pathetic," snapped Nico, grabbing the book out of her raised hand.

"What?" said Hermione.

"I said 'How pathetic'. How pathetic it is of you, Granger, to automatically decide there must be something Evil about a book, or a person, just because it does something better than you. How pathetic of you to be so narrow-minded to decide that, because a certain book or person disagrees with your opinion, it must be wrong. How pathetic you are."

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Nico flicked his wrist nonchalantly and Hermione was silenced.

Nico flicked through the book several times lightning-quick.

"What are you doing?" asked Ginny.

Lou, who had walked up behind her, said, "Nico has a photographic memory. If he sees something once, he can remember it for a long time afterwards. Basically, he's memorising the book."

Nico flicked back to one page, took out a Biro pen, and made an amendment. He flicked to another, and added something. He continued with most of the other pages.

"There," he said, several minutes later. "Os all year, guaranteed."

"Thanks mate," Harry said gratefully.

"_Par de problème_." He tossed Harry his book back. "Now can we eat? I'm starving."

But Harry wasn't paying attention. The book had slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.

No-one was looking. As he bent low to retrieve the book , he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped writing that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis.

_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince_, read Malcolm. _What horrid capitalisation._

* * *

*For the rest of the week's Potion's lessons Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince's instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage's* and Nico's instructions where they deviated from the Prince's (there was about 1 every few pages, and only minor. Still, it seemed to make a difference). The result was that his potions were usually the same standard as Nico's (and, were they any worse, Nico would always look over it and make notes where he went wrong. Personally, Harry thought that it was a great method of learning) and Slughorn was raving, by the fourth lesson, how Nico and Harry were some of the best pupils he had ever taught. Neither Ron nor Hermione was delighted by this. Although Harry had offered to share his book with the both of them, Ron could only read Nico's writing (which was a slightly messy print that occasionally bordered on illegible) and had more difficulty deciphering the Prince's handwriting then Harry did, and could not keep asking Harry to read aloud or it might look suspicious. *Hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely ploughing on with what she called the 'official' instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the Prince's.*

What Harry did not realise, though, was that Nico's occasional snide comments towards Hermione weren't helping much either.

Despite the front she put on, Nico was well aware that Hermione was actually the weak link of the group, but also the glue. If he could alienate Hermione, hopefully the rest would follow. _Hopefully_ being the operative word.

Nico found Harry and Ron's guesses on the identity of the Prince highly amusing. Really, all they had to do was look at the list of the country's Potion Masters and they should be able to figure it out by looking into them. Or, the could have just asked him. Nico had thought his hint that he knew the identity of the Prince when Harry first got the book had been obvious enough to tip them off, but apparently not.

Nico sighed. This place was depressing him (and he'd had enough experience with Dysthymia (also known as _Chronic Depression_) for a lifetime, thank you very much). Contrary to the institution of learning it was meant to be, Nico felt as though his IQ was _dropping_ with every moment he spent here.

And yes, maybe he was just the littlest bit homesick.

Okay, _very_ homesick.

Nico checked his watch. Time to talk to Dumbledore.

* * *

*Harry wondered vaguely who the Half-Blood Prince had been. Although the amount of homework they had been given prevented him from reading the whole of his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making,_ he had skimmed through it sufficiently to see that there was barely a page on which the Prince* (or Nico) *had not made additional notes, not all of them concerned with potion-making. Here and there were directions for what looked like spells that the Prince had made up himself*, and the occasional note added from Nico on these spells.

_Only guessing_, read one, _but this one is an eavesdropping spell. Lasts aprox. 5 mins. Easily traceable._

*"Or herself," said Hermione irritably, overhearing Harry pointing out some of these out to Ron in the common room on Saturday evening. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looked more like a girl's than a boy's."*

Harry sighed. Tom was telling him a few comebacks (which, for some reason, always sounded like Nico's possible responses. Not surprising, really; Tom and Nico were impossibly similar.

_Your handwriting looks like a guys, but I don't say that out loud._

_You're being reversely sexist._

_Stop getting your panties in a twist; it doesn't even matter!_

_I take that back. Twist your panties all you want, it amuses me._

_Actually, just get rid of them. That'd be nice._

_Dude_, Harry said, _stop the lewd comments. Really. Leave the flirting to Nico._

_Nico isn't here, so _someone_ has to take over in the lewd comments front._

Jude still wasn't speaking to anyone.

Out loud he said, "The Half-Blood _Prince_ he was called. *How many girls have been princes?"

Hermione seemed to have no answer to this. She merely scowled and twitched her essay pm 'The Principles of Re-Materialisation' away from Ron, who was trying to read it upside-down.

Harry looked at his watch and hurriedly put the old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ back into his bag.

"It's five to eight, I'd better go, I'll be late for Dumbledore."

"Ooooh!" gasped Hermione, looking up at once. "Good luck! We'll wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you!"

"Hope it goes OK," said Ron.*

Harry gave Ron a nod of acknowledgement, but he ignored Hermione - unless you looked closely as he walked out of the portrait hole and realised he had been giving Hermione the two-finger salute the entire way out. *

*Harry proceeded through deserted corridors, though he had to hastily behind a statue when Professor Trelawney appeared round a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffles a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.

"Two of spades: conflict," she murmured, as she passed the place where Harry crouched, hidden. "Seven of spades: an ill omen. ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner*. King of spades: secrets revealed and friendships changed -"

*She stopped dead, right on the other side of Harry's statue.

"Well, that can't be right," she said, annoyed, and Harry heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. Harry waited until he was quite sure she was gone, then hurried off again until he reached the spot on the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.

"Acid Pops," said Harry. The gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral staircase was revealed, on to which Harry stepped, so that he was carried in smooth circles up to the door with a brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's office.

Harry knocked.

"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice.*

"Good even - Oh. Hey Nico."

Nico waved. "Hi."

"I trust you both have had an enjoyable first week back at school?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes thanks sir," said Harry, at the same time Nico said, "No, not really."

Dumbledore chose to ignore the latter and addressed Harry. "You must have been busy, a detention under your belt already!"

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," said Nico apathetically, "that detention was unfairly given and should be cancelled."

"Alas," said Dumbledore sadly, "it is not within my authority to do that."

"Yeah," Nico snorted. "Right."

"So," said Dumbledore, once again addressing Harry. "You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these - for want of a better word - lessons?"

"Yes, sir."

_Well _no_,_ said Tom. _We're not curious at all._

"Well _no_," said Nico sarcastically. "He's just been floating around, completely forgetting everything he's ever been taught and has no sense of curiosity whatsoever."

Dumbledore ignored Nico, even while Harry snickered. "Well, I have decided that it is the time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for me to give you certain information."

"Okay," Nico interrupted again. "Several flaws with that statement. One: why call him Lord Voldemort? Why not Tom Riddle? Two: He should have know a long time ago. And three: why just _certain_ information? Is there something wrong with all of it?"

"Please, Mr di Angelo," said Dumbledore, sounding stressed. "Please, refrain from interrupting me."

"No promises."

"Now," said Dumbledore, resuming his grandfatherly persona, "Mr di Angelo here -" Nico waved "- has agreed to look at the first memory and help us decode it, and has managed to collect a few others for later use, with means he refuses to divulge."

Nico shrugged. "What? It's secret! I don't wanna be arrested!"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," said Dumbledore, as Harry burst into laughter.

That was just so ... _Nico_.

_You make that sound like a bad thing_, said Andy. _I like Nico._

_So do I_, added Tom.

_He's alright, I suppose_, said James.

_No comment_, said Malcolm.

_Jeez, thanks Malcolm_, said Nico's voice. _I feel so loved_.

_Get out of my head!_

_Fine._

"From this point forward," said Dumbledore, refusing to be sidetracked, "we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From heron in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"Well _that_ was dramatic," said Nico.

"You have to kill of any vaguely mysterious aura with a sarcastic comment, don't you?" asked Harry fondly.

"Of course!" Nico replied brightly.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Does this have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me ... survive?" said Harry, slightly worried.

"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the next day's weather, "and I certainly hope it will help you survive."

"Fact remains," said Nico, poking his arm, "that _you_ need to build some muscle."

Had it been anyone else in Britain, Harry would have said something along the lines of 'look who's talking' (given that the majority of people Harry knew had been waving sticks instead of doing any real exercise), but Nico was probably stronger than 50% of Gryffindor house put together, which was a bit of a hit to Harry's ego.

So he just stuck his tongue out at him instead.

Nico responded in kind.

"Boys!" Dumbledore said exasperatedly. "You two are going to be the death of me!"

"Au contraire!" said Nico brightly. "S -"

"Please, Mr di Angelo, do not."

Nico smirked in a self-satisfied way. Harry guessed the Dumbledore had just confirmed a bit of prospective blackmail on himself.

"Of _course_ sir."

*Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past Harry, who turned eagerly in his seat to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of Harry.*

"Scared Potter?" muttered Nico. "You're looking ... _petrified_."

Harry wondered if Nico made a reference to Harry's second year on purpose.

_Probably_, said Tom. _That guy just seems to know everything about everyone. I doubt there's anyone else with _that_ talent._

_You're forgetting that his brother's borderline clairvoyant._

_Oh. Yeah._

_Yeah._

Harry sighed. Sometimes he marvelled at exactly how stupid his own mind could be.

* * *

Said clairvoyant older brother was looking through paperwork in his study ... again.

He sighed. Albus Dumbledore was proving to be far more secretive than he had previously thought.

Percy Jackson was perfectly willing to admit when he was wrong - or even when he wasn't, as was in line with his character - and he was going to do so now. He didn't think there was so little information on Albus Dumbledore and the Potters.

"We're very sorry about that," said a harshly beautiful women with black hair and startlingly grey eyes.

"It's fine, Mother," said Percy. No, the woman wasn't _actually_ his mother, but she was his mother-in-law, and they had warmed up to each other since the ending of the 3/6 feud 5 years ago.

Jeez, it seemed like such a long time since then.

"We're doing everything we can," said Athena, "but we can't keep all documents on everyone, and we didn't think we would ever need Albus Dumbledore's files."

"It's perfectly fine," said Percy. "There's enough here to manage."

Athena nodded. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Percy nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "I will be."

"Okay," said Athena. "I have to go now; the others will be wondering where I am."

Percy smiled. "Thanks for the help, Mom."

Athena responded in kind, and opened her arms for a hug.

Percy gladly stepped into it, despite the fact he was half a foot taller than Athena.

"Bye Mom," he said.

"Goodbye Percy."

With that, Athena vanished in a surge of bright white light.

With a tired sigh, Percy continued looking through the files of anyone that had anything to do with Dumbledore.

* * *

**We're just gonna fast-forward a bit here, because I don't want to type out an entire memory unnecessarily. Okay? Okay.**

* * *

*"And they ended up married?" Harry said in disbelief, unable to imagine two people less likely to fall in love.*

"Harry," said Nico, "Merope was a witch, albeit a weak one. She could easily brew a love potion. Besides, at this point, we can't know if they ended up marrying. There have been plenty of times when women have gotten pregnant out of wedlock. Given the time it was, and the lack of contraception, Tom Riddle Senior may have just ... well ... _taken advantage of her_, so to speak. Point is, don't automatically assume that, just because they had a kid, they were in love."

"Very true," said Dumbledore. "They did, in fact, marry, but I believe that Merope became far more powerful after being freed from the oppression she had endured for eighteen years at the hands of her father and brother. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full reign to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years.

"Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead?"

"The Imperius Curse?" Harry suggested. "Or a love potion?"

"Second one," said Nico. "It probably seemed more romantic to her. It probably wouldn't be very difficult, after brewing, to slip it to him. You know, he's riding by on a hot day, Merope offers him a cold drink, then BAM! Tom Riddle Junior is half way there. Either way, a few months after that scene -" he pointed at the Pensieve "- Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt ran off. It was quite the scandal."

"I can imagine," said Harry. "The tramp's daughter and the squire's son ... sounds like an old fairy tale."

"Yup," said Nico. "Cinderella with a dark twist of it being loveless and producing Britain's worst Dark Lord to date. Still, the villagers' shock was nothing compared to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal on the table. Instead, there was just a note of farewell explaining what she had done, buried under about a foot of dust. He never mentioned her existence from then on. He never learnt to cook or clean or do anything for himself. Be it that or the shock of his daughter marrying a Muggle, Marvolo didn't live to see Morfin return from Azkaban."

"What about Merope? She ... she died, didn't she? Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?"

"Right again," said Nico. "Wool's orphanage, London. You see, a few months after running away with Merope, Tom Riddle returned to Little Hangleton without Merope. Rumour had it that Tom was talking about being 'bewitched' and 'hoodwinked'. What I'm guessing he meant was that he had been under a spell or enchantment that had been lifted, but obviously he couldn't say that without people saying he was insane. When the villagers heard what he was saying, they guessed that Merope had lied to him, pretending she was going to have his baby or something similar, and that was why he married her."

"But she _did_ have his baby."

"Not until a year after they were married. Riddle left her before Voldemort was born."

"What went wrong?" asked Harry. "Did the potion stop working or something?"

"Anyone's guess," said Nico. "Mine, though, is that Merope was so deeply in love with her husband and didn't want their relationship to be built on a lie any more. She probably stopped giving him the potion of her own free will. She may have managed to convince herself that he had fallen in love with her by now, or that he would stay for the baby's sake. Either way, she was wrong, and Tom Riddle left at the nearest opportunity, and he never bothered to discover what had become of his son."

Harry sat quietly for a while, considering.

Nico looked outside. the sky was inky black, and the lamps inside the office seemed to glow more brightly than earlier.

He yawned. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. It's late, and I'm going to sleep."

He walked out of the door without so much as a 'by your leave'.

"Sir?" asked Harry quietly, "is it important to know all this about Voldemort's past?"

*"Very important, I think." said Dumbledore.

"And it ... it's got something to do with the prophecy?"

"It has everything to do with the prophecy."

"Right," said Harry, a little confused, but reassured all the same.* But before he left, another question popped into his head. "Sir?"

"Yes Harry?"

"What do you think about Nico?"

Dumbledore considered for a moment. "I don't know the boy that well, so I will refrain from judgement. However, from what I know, he seems to be a bit like you."

"Is that a good thing, sir?"

"It is sometimes, Harry, however Mr di Angelo seems to be more cold than you. More arrogant, too."

"Do you trust him professor?"

_No_, said Tom. _He doesn't, and possible rightly so._

"Again, I don't know the boy that well. I do believe, though, that the help of you friend and his family will be helpful. Whether they are our friends or not, they are strongly against Voldemort's cause, and so we can rely on them for now."

_Bullshit,_ said Tom. _You think nothing of the sort._

"More strongly against Voldemort than against us?" asked Harry softly.

"I believe so, yes."

"But you aren't sure." It was a statement, not a question.

"There are many things in life you cannot be sure about, my boy. The loyalty of those you consider your friends is one of them."

Harry turned to leave yet again, but this time, something caught his eye on the way out.

*Sitting on one of the little spindle-legged tables that supported so many frail-looking silver instruments was an ugly gold ring set with a large, cracked black stone.

"Sir," said Harry, staring at it. "That ring -"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"You were wearing it when we visited Professor Slughorn that night."

"So I was," Dumbledore agreed.

"But isn't it ... sir, isn't it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?"

Dumbledore bowed his head.

"The very same."

"But how come -? Have you always had it?"

"No, I acquired it very recently," said Dumbledore. "A few days before I came to fetch you from your aunt and uncle's, in fact."

"That would be around the same time you injured your hand, then, sir?"

"Around that time, yes, Harry."

Harry hesitated. Dumbledore was smiling.

"Sir, how exactly -?"

"Too late, Harry! You shall hear the story another time. Goodnight."

"Goodnight sir."*

_Never mind_, said Tom, as they walked out of Dumbledore's office. _You can just ask Nico. I bet you he'll know._

_Indeed_, agreed Malcolm. _And if not him, then Percy will_.

_Yeah_, agreed Harry. But still, he couldn't help but wonder: _what if they don't have the answers?_

_We'll just deal with it when we come to it_, said Malcolm firmly.

Harry nodded.

* * *

***Extracts from the Half-Blood Prince***

******* The two-finger salute is the British equivalent of the middle finger, in case you were unaware. It's like a backwards peace sign.**

**~ Evil Nightingale**


	11. A Little Faster

**Chapter Ten - A Little Faster  
****A.K.A Hermione's Helping Hand**

**It has recently dawned on me that I have not done a disclaimer in a few chapters. While I don't understand why I should, I shall do it anyway:**

**If I owned Harry Potter, Hermione would either be dead, less annoying, or not friends with Harry. Ron would be ... well, sort of the same, but he would be less lazy. Dumbledore would have died in the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius would still be alive, and Harry would not be such an idiot.**

**If I owned Percy Jackson, Jason would be dead, there would've been **_**way**_** more Percabeth in Blood of Olympus, Solangelo would have been introduced far earlier, and Piper and Hazel would be together (yes, really).**

**So, should you have any doubts as to my owning either franchise, here is your answer: no.**

**Random musing of the chapter: Who was the first person to get an STD, and how many people did they sleep with to make it so widespread?**

* * *

*As Hermione had predicted, the sixth-years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days, and even Hermione had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice.* The only exception was Nico, who fell asleep in nearly every class - or pretended to. He was a borderline insomniac, after all.

*Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.*

Of course, it didn't help that she didn't get the second best slot either - no matter what, Nico's potion always turned out to be exactly perfect, meaning Harry took a close second place.

*Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew they were really struggling to make spells work without saying the incantations out loud.* It had become a common sight to see some sixth-years come, often red with embarrassment, to ask for help from Nico.

Hermione always went red-faced in anger at this; it was _her_ people always came to for help. It probably didn't help that even Harry and Ron were more likely to ask Nico for help than her now.

This time, it was Susan Bones asking for help.

"Sure," said Nico. "I have a free before lunch. You?"

Susan nodded. "Yeah, me too."

"Do you know where the Room of Requirement is?"

Susan nodded again.

"Meet you there?"

"Sure." She scurried back to the Hufflepuff table, bright red.

"Dude," whispered Harry, "how do you _do_ that?"

"Do what?" asked Nico absent-mindedly, spreading butter over his toast.

"Manage to make everyone, guy or girl, blush just by smiling at them," said Neville.

"Natural charm," he said.

"That's so unfair," whined Ron. "Some people have all the luck."

Nico looked at him contemplatively. "Yes," he agreed. "Some people do."

The, "_but not me"_ remained unsaid, but Harry heard it anyway.

*One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practising non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron and Hermione had so far been unable to find the time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions they had passed him in the corridors or out in the ground, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.*

"We've got to go and explain," said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table.

"Already done," said Nico.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"I take Care. I've spoken to Hagrid; justified your situation."

"Then how come he's still ignoring us?"

"I think he wants to hear it from you."

"We should go down after breakfast," said Hermione decisively.

*"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" said Ron. "_And_ we're meant to be practising that _Aguamenti _charm for Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"*

"Oh, you know," said Nico idly, "just say 'Hagrid, your subject is stupid and you're a crap teacher.' Of course, it'd crush him on the inside, and you'd be guilt-ridden for days, but you could just say that."

"That's not the point!" said Hermione. "We didn't hate it!"

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts," said Ron darkly. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother - we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."

"Nope," said Nico. "We're recapping Hippogriffs, actually."

Hermione acted like Nico hadn't said anything.

_She really hates the poor guy_, said Tom. _It's so funny._

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," she said, looking upset.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," Harry assured her. *"But the trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied." He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle in his captaincy. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden."*

Nico rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Honestly, you're more oblivious than my brother sometimes."

Harry looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Dude, you're a total chick magnet. It's not Quidditch that's popular; it's _you_. You've never been more interesting, or, in the majority of girls' and a few guys' points of view, more datable."

Ron gagged on a piece of kipper.

"What?" said Nico. "_C'est vrai, n'est pas?_ Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they Harry? They all have to admit that they were wrong and you were right about Tom Riddle being back; that you've fought him twice in the past two years and escaped both. They're even calling you the Chosen One. You can't see why that would fascinate people? Really Harry?"

The Great Hall felt very hot all of a sudden, even though it still looked cold and gloomy outside.

"Aw, he's blushing," said Nico in a baby voice that reminded Harry of Bellatrix Lestrange except less malevolent. Nico pinched Harry's cheeks so that he looked like a chipmunk. "Is Ikkle Hawwykins embawwassed?"

"Gerroff me," said Harry gruffly, prying Nico's fingers off his cheek.

"He's trying to act _manly_. How cute."

Harry glared at him and made arguably the most obscene of all British hand gestures at Nico.*****

He only smirked.

Ron roared with laughter; even Hermione resisted the urge to smile.

Tom, too, was laughing his figurative pants off.

_Shut up Tom!_

_But it's _funny_, Ikkle Hawwykins._

Harry was saved from having to respond both to Tom and Nico by the arrival of the post owls. They swooped down through the rain flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. *Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry hadn't received any mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy-white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and grey owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

"Ha!" said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh good," said Hermione, delighted. "Now you can give that old graffitied copy back."*

"Upset, Granger?" said Nico, expression changing from amused to scary in the blink of an eye. "Hoping to finally get your top spot back? Upset that someone's _replaced_ you?"

Harry agreed. "I'm keeping it," he said. "Look, I've thought it out -"

He pulled the old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, "_Diffindo!_" The cover fell off. He did the same with the brand new book (Hermione looked scandalised while Nico looked amused). He then swapped the covers, tapped each and said, "_Reparo!_"

"Nice," said Nico. "Very cunning."

"I'll give Slughorn back the new one," said Harry. "He can't complain, it cost nine Galleons."

"Oh, he could complain," said Nico, "it just wouldn't be rational to do so."

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.

"Anyone we know dead?" quipped Nico - Ron posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.

"No," said Hermione, focusing on Ron instead of Nico, "but there have been more Dementor attacks. And one arrest."

"Excellent," said Harry. "Who?"

He crossed his fingers, hoping it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Stan Shunspike," said Nico, leaning his chin on Hermione's shoulder so as to read the paper. He always did this; his reasoning was that it annoyed her, and so was somehow a productive use of his time.

Hermione scowled at him and shrugged the shoulder his chin was on.

"What?" said Harry, startled.

'_Stan?'_ asked James. _'__Stan Shunspike? That pimply conductor on the Knight Bus we found bragging that he was going to be Minister of Magic to a couple of French girls? You know, when we were at the Quidditch World Cup?'_

'_I think so!'_

"'_Stanley Shunspike, conductor on the popular wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus -'_"

"Why do they call it 'wizarding'?" asked Nico. "Makes it seem like women can't ride it."

They shushed him.

"_' - has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr Shunspike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home ...'_"

'_This is ridiculous__,'_ scoffed Tom. _'__Stan Shunspike, a Death Eater? Boy doesn't look like he could tie his own shoes!'_

'_But he's older than you__,'_ said Andy.

'_You are missing the point.'_

"No way," said Harry.

"He might have been under the Imperius Curse," said Ron reasonably. "You can never tell."

"Actually," said Nico, "any halfway-decent Legillimens can tell you whether or not someone's under the Imperius Curse. Besides-" he scanned the paper, resting his chin on Hermione's shoulder again, causing her to scowl "- doesn't look like it. Says here he was arrested after being overheard talking about Death Eater's secret plans in a pub."

"If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?" said Hermione.

"Well," mused Nico, "it's possible it was staged by the Death Eaters as a fear tactic. You know, 'The guy who was the conductor on the bus you took for years was a Death Eater and you never knew. Who else might be?' Or maybe Stan was under the Imperius Curse and managed to break it momentarily. Always consider all the possibilities."

"He could have just been trying to make out he knew more than he did," said Ron. "Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister for Magic when he was trying to chat up those Veela?"

"Yeah, that's him," said Harry. "I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously."

"They just want to look as though they're doing something," said Nico disdainfully.

"People are terrified," said Hermione, frowning. "You know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgeon has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."

"What?" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

"Dumbledore cares very little for the safety of the majority of students at this school, Ron," Nico reminded him. "He's put them in danger year after year, even since before your first. Plus, people have lost faith in the Aurors, what with all of the attacks and so few arrests happening. As for the wards ... Tom Riddle was infamous for being able to bring down any wards you put in his way, given enough time. The way people see it, when Tom Riddle inevitably tries to breach Hogwarts - and it _is_ inevitable - at least their kids won't be there to be harmed. Besides," he glanced up at the staff table, "haven't you noticed? Dumbledore isn't around as much as he used to be. His seat's been empty almost as much as Hagrid's lately."

They followed his glance up at the staff table. The Headmaster's chair was indeed empty. Now that Harry thought about it, he hadn't see good ole Dumbles since their private lesson a week ago.

"I think he's left the school to do something with the Order," said Hermione in a low voice. "I mean ... it's all looking very serious, isn't it?"

The other three didn't answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. Harry hadn't seen Hannah since, although he knew Nico had been to talk to her. Since Nico helped her with her Defence homework, the two had become friends of a kind. Apparently, her father intended to withdraw her from Hogwarts.

*When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked round and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.*

Nico chuckled and pulled his coat closer around him.

Harry said, "It's not even that cold. Why do you need a coat?"

"I grew up in Vegas," Nico reminded him. "The temperature there falls below zero centigrade maybe once every ten years. I am _not_ used to the cold."

"Wimp," Harry teased.

"You say that, but I'd cope better in the desert than you."

"But we aren't _in_ a desert."

"Just because you aren't in one now doesn't mean you never will be."

"Point taken," Harry acknowledged. "You trying out?"

"Nope," said Nico, popping the 'p'. "Flying just ain't my thing."

"You'd be good though!"

"Well if you ever need a reserve, we'll see. Is that alright Harrykins?"

"Fine."

"Bye." He walked off towards the stands.

Harry sighed.

* * *

The trials took all morning, as he had anticipated. Half of Gryffindor house seemed to have turned up, from first-years who were nervously clutching a selection of dreadful old school brooms, to seventh-years who towered over the rest looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wire-haired boy Harry recognised immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

"We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment," he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. "Cormac McLaggen, Keeper."

'_He expects special treatment,'_ warned James.

'_No doubt,'_ agreed Tom.

'_I don't like him,'_ said Saul.

Harry grasped his hand and nearly had it crushed. "You didn't try out last year, did you?" he asked conversationally, taking in the sheer breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he could probably block all of the three goalhoops without so moving so much as a metre.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trial," said McLaggen, with something of a swagger. "Ate a pound of Doxy eggs for a bet."

"Ooh," Harry winced. "That _can't_ have been fun."

"Not in the slightest."

"So," Harry put on a curious expression, "what do Doxy eggs taste like?"

"Horrible."

Harry laughed. "Well, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to start the trials out now. Is that okay?"

McLaggen's face flashed momentarily with annoyance.

'_Yeah,'_ said Tom. _'__He definitely expects special treatment_._'_

"Sure," said McLaggen. "Where do I wait?"

"Over there, if that's okay." He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione and Nico looked to be arguing again. _Nothing out of the ordinary there._

"Keepers are being tried out last, so you may be waiting a while. Do you have anything you really need to do?"

"Nope, I'm cool."

"Okay," said Harry. "It was nice talking to you Cormac. See you at Old Sluggy's sometime?"

"See you there."

"Bye."

'_Nicely done,'_ said James. _'__Very diplomatic.'_

'_I try.'_

*Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: the first ten was made up of first-years and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to stay airborne for more than five seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goalposts.

The second group comprised ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching each other. Romilda Vane was amongst them.*

'_I swear,'_ said Tom, _'__that that girl is going to grow up to be a streetwalker. I _swear_.'_

Harry resisted the urge to snort.

He told them to get off the pitch. They did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands and heckle everyone else.

The third group had a pile up halfway around the pitch.

Most of the fourth had no broomsticks.

The fifth were Hufflepuffs.

Harry took a deep breath. "Alright!" he shouted in an authoritative voice he'd managed to pick up from Percy over the holidays. "Who here isn't from Gryffindor? Get out!"

A couple of small Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

"Who doesn't have a broom? Leave. NOW!"

A few others left.

"If there's anyone here just to cause trouble: GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

A few others squeaked and left.

Harry took a deep breath. "To all who remain, can we please be mature, and _not_ cause trouble for the sake of trouble? Please?"

After two hours, many complaints, several tantrums (one of which involved a crashed Comet Two Sixty), several broken teeth, and Nico bringing a frustrated Harry an aspirin, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial, a new find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers, and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot.

Harry was very pleased with his choices, though he had shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was currently enduring a similar argument with the rejected Beaters.

"Well this looks fun," said an amused voice behind him.

Harry turned and looked up at Nico (given he was nearly three inches taller than Harry's 5'10**) and sighed. "What do you want, Nico?"

"Well _someone's _in a foul mood," said Nico, quirking an eyebrow. "I merely came to offer you some hot chocolate."

He held out the Thermos.

Harry deflated. "Thanks, mate."

"_Par de problème._"

Harry took a sip, and his eyes widened comically.

"This is really nice hot chocolate," he said.

"There's a lot of cinnamon. That's about all that makes it special. Anyway, have fun."

He walked back towards the stands.

Harry turned back to the rejected Beaters. "Go away. Just, go away. Shouting at me isn't going to help you; all it tells me is that you are too immature to admit when you've been bettered and I don't want people like that on my team. You can go now."

*Neither of his chosen Beaters held any of the old brilliance of Fred and George, but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peaks, a short but broad-chested third-year who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie, Demelza and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

Harry had deliberately left the trials of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever. As each Keeper flew up to the goalhoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not; Ron was a delicate shade of green.*

By the third applicant, Harry flew up and cast a Sonorous charm.

"_Enough!_" he shouted, even with the charm. "_This is an important time, okay? I don't care if you cheer, but _please_ don't jeer at them. Just because you weren't given a place on the team, doesn't mean you have to jeopardise everyone else's chances. You have made this morning unbelievably stressful and I am at the end of my tether. So shut up, or get your backsides out of the stadium!_"

He flew back down and continued with the trials.

The next two hopefuls were slightly better than the first three; be it because of the crowd being nicer or just naturally Harry wasn't sure, but it helped to relieve him of his dreadful migraine. They still didn't save more than three, though.

To Harry's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off completely in the wrong direction; the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth.

Harry made a show of getting the crowd to calm down, even though he himself found it slightly amusing.

*Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Good luck!" cried a voice from the stands. Harry looked around, expecting to see Hermione, but it was Lavender Brown. He would have quite liked to have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that as Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch Ron do his trial.

Yet he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheer of the crowd* (although he did clap politely) with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him.

Only McLaggen's red face was mere inches from his own. He stepped back hastily.

"His sister didn't really," said McLaggen menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon's. "She gave him an easy save."

'_James, James, what do I say?'_ asked Harry, panicking.

'_Calm down,'_ said James. _'__Leave it to me_._'_

"Cormac, can we please be rational," said James calmly, placing a hand on McLaggen's shoulder. "First off, Ginny's shot was the one Ron nearly missed. It wasn't easy to save. Second, even if it was, what can I do? Say it didn't count? There'd be outrage! Make them all repeat? That'd just be hell for everyone. I can't choose you anyway, because then I'd look favouritist. Right now, there's nothing much I can do. We'll just have to put up with him until he has a really bad match. Then I'll kick him off and we can hold new trials. Okay?"

For a moment, both Harry and James thought they were going to get punched. Then McLaggen just took a deep breath, but he contented himself with a grimace. "I suppose you're right."

"Exactly," said James. "Have a good day, Cormac. I'll see you at Old Sluggy's at some point, alright?"

"Yeah," said McLaggen. "I'll see you then."

He stormed off.

'_Thanks James,'_ said Harry.

'_No problem,'_ replied James.

Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.

"Well done," he croaked. "You flew really well -"

"You did brilliantly, Ron!"

This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands, closely followed by Nico. Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, and a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned around at the team and at Hermione.

*After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade goodbye to the rest of them and headed off towards Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Harry felt extremely hungry; he hoped there would be something to eat at Hagrid's.

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying happily. "Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of a spin on it -"

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," said Hermione, looking amused.*

'_Dear God he's such a peacock,'_ said Tom disdainfully.

'_True dat,'_ said Jude.

'_Hang on,'_ said Harry, _'__since when were you two back on speaking terms?'_

'_Since right now_._'_

'_Glad you let me in on that.'_

*"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded ..."

To Harry's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these words. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail.*

'_Dear God man just shut up,'_ grouched Saul. _'__We don't care about it, and we certainly don't need to hear you brag about it. We were right there, arsehole.'_

'_Agreed,'_ said every other voice bar Andy.

'_It's not that bad!'_ he said cheerfully.

'_Yes,'_ said James. _'__It is.'_

'_Okay. _Maybe_ it's that bad. _Maybe._'_

Harry resisted the urge to laugh.

Nico was petting Buckbeak, the great grey Hippogriff, who was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. Almost as though through previous agreement, Nico and Buckbeak turned to look at the trio in sync. Nico raised two fingers to his temple and away to salute them while scratching Buckbeak behind his wings with the other hand. Buckbeak clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach.

"'Sup?" said Nico.

"Nothin' much," replied Harry, as Hermione said nervously, "Oh dear. He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"

"Come of it, you've ridden him, haven't you?" said Ron.

Harry stepped forward and bowed low to the Hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak returned the gesture.

"How are ya?" Harry asked him in a soft voice, moving forward to stroke Buckbeak's feathery head. "Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid, aren't you?"

"Oi!" said a loud voice.

Hagrid had come striding round the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heel; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forwards.

"Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers - oh. It's yeh lot."

"Hey Hagrid," said Nico from the right of Buckbeak. "Is he doing alright?"

"Nah," said Hagrid. "Only gettin' worse, I'm afraid."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nico replied sincerely. "What's the lesson plan for Monday?"

"I was thinkin' we could go inter the forest an' check on him."

"Sounds good. Should I tell Tracey? So she knows to be prepared?"

"Yeh probably should, yeah."

"Alright then."

Harry was very confused at who this 'he' was, but he was even more upset that Hagrid was ignoring them.

"Hagrid -" he started.

"Would yeh like ter come inside, Nico?" asked Hagrid, still ignoring him.

Nico smiled. "I'd very much appreciate that, thank you Hagrid."

"Come on then."

They walked inside, still talking, although Nico caught Harry's eye and made a slight 'come on' gesture.

As soon as Hagrid went inside, the door was slammed shut.

"Oh dear," said Hermione, looking stricken.

"Don't worry about it," said Harry grimly.

'_Blast open the door!'_ said Jude.

'_Scare them all!'_ said Tom.

'_I hate everyone!'_ said Saul.

He walked over to the door and knocked loudly. He could hear Nico talking inside - something about forgiveness, which was oh so ironic - but didn't care much at this particular moment.

"Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!"

Nico's voice rose slightly.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Harry just about made out.

*"If you don't open this door, we'll blast it open!" Harry said, pulling out his wand.

"Harry!" said Hermione, sounding shocked. "You can't possibly -"

"Yeah, I can!" said Harry. "Stand back -"*

But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry - or rather Tom, from whom the suggestion had come from - had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery pinny, positively alarming.

Tom could just spot Nico at the table looking thoroughly amused, legs resting on the table.

"I'm a teacher!" Hagrid roared at him. "A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!"

"I'm sorry, _sir_," said Tom, emphasising the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.

Hagrid looked stunned.

"Since when have _yeh_ called me 'sir'?"

"Since when have you called me 'Potter'?"

"He has a point, Hagrid," said Nico.

*"Oh very clever," growled Hagrid. "Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? Alrigh', come in then, yeh ungrateful little ..."

Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Hermione scurried in after Harry, looking rather frightened.

"Well?" said Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down around his enormous wooden table*. Fang jumped almost immediately onto Harry's lap, laying his drooling head on Nico's slightly raised ones.

"Feet off the table," Harry said to Nico instead.

Nico raised an eyebrow at him and pointedly crossed his legs at the ankle.

Harry sighed.

"What's this?" Hagrid continued. "Feelin' sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"

"No," said Harry at once. "We wanted to see you."

"We've missed you!" said Hermione tremulously.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed Nico smirk in an 'I told you so' kind of way.

"Missed me, have yeh?" snorted Hagrid. "Yeah. Righ'."

He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down four bucket sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.

Nico, being a stereotypical American, wasn't very fond of hot tea, and was surreptitiously letting Fang drink it instead - an impressive feat, seeing as all Fang seemed to want to do was knock it over.

"Hagrid," said Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling potatoes his with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know."

"Tha's what he said," Hagrid grunted, jerking his head towards Nico.

"Well then he heard correctly," said Hermione.

"'He' is right here," muttered Nico, scratching Fang behind the ears.

"We couldn't fit it into our timetables!"

There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around: Hermione let out a tiny shriek and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots; slimy, white and writhing.

"What're they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.

"Giant grubs," chirped Nico, getting up from the table and walking towards it.

"And they grow into ...?" said Ron, looking apprehensive.

"They won' grow inter nuthin'," said Hagrid.

Nico picked one up and pulled it out of the barrel.

"Why?" he asked Ron, smirking maliciously. "Scared, Ron? Scared of a teeny-weeny grubby-wubby?"

"No!" Ron denied vehemently. "I just don't go about picking up giant maggots!"

Nico shrugged. "Whatever. Want it, Fang?"

Fang barked and placed his paws on Nico's knees, looking up at him with big brown eyes.

Nico threw the grub so that it landed at the base of Hermione's chair, Fang bounding after it.

Hermione shrieked louder.

"They're for Aragog," said Nico, as though he hadn't just scared a teenage girl shitless.

And without warning, Hagrid burst into tears.

Nico quickly hurried over to him and put an arms around his shoulders.

Harry frowned. "What's the matter with Aragog?"

Hagrid gulped, beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. "I think he's dyin' ... he got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' better ... I don' know what I'll do if he ... if he ... we've bin tergether so long ..."

"Tracey, me and a few seventh-years are helping him with Aragog a few times a week, in lessons and out," said Nico, patting Hagrid's shoulder. "It's not looking really good, especially with the colony."

Hermione went around the table the long way, avoiding the grubs, and gave Hagrid a hug, looking at a complete loss of what to say. *Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stings, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, that dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped from four years previously.

"Is there - is there anything we can do?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.

"I don' think there is, Hermione," chocked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of tears. "See, the rest o' the tribe ... Aragog's family ... they're gettin' a bit funny now he's ill ... bit restive ..."

"Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them," said Ron in an undertone.*

"... I don' reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me and me sixth- and seventh-years to go near the colony at the mo'," Hagrid finished. "Even then, they don' really like it unless Nico's there."

Nico waved. "Hi."

"Why do they like you?" asked Hermione. "Just curious, why do they like you?"

"Giant, monstrous spiders just _love_ me, 'Mione," said Nico cockily. "Basically, I bring them food and I show respect. That's really all that's necessary."

Hagrid said,"*Thanks fer offerin', Hermione ... it means a lot ..."

After that the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to have taken it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once again.*

"Ar, I always knew you'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yeh timetables," he said gruffly, pouring more tea, which Nico was quick to decline. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners-"

"We couldn't have done," said Hermione. "We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there in the summer. It was in the _Daily Prophet_."

"Ar, well then," said Hagrid. "There's no way yeh could've done it ... I'm sorry I've bin - yeh know - I've just bin worried abou' Aragog ... an' I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin' yeh ..."

Before the trio had a chance to categorically and untruthfully state how horrible a teacher Grubbly-Plank was, Nico snorted. "Who wants a teacher who restricts you to Light-only creatures anyway?" he scoffed. "How are you meant to pass, or even survive, your exams if you have no idea how to deal with nature's more deadly side? This discussion isn't even worth having."

They chatted idly for a bit, with Nico and Hagrid having an animated discussion on multiple creatures (it appeared that Nico, too, didn't seem to comprehend the phrase _It's dangerous_) before the latter waved them off the premises at dusk, looking quite cheerful.

"I - am - _starving_," said Nico, once the door closed behind them and they were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds. "I vote that we get food immediately."

"I second the notion," said Harry, mimicking Jude and James.

"You have a detention," Hermione reminded him.

"I know," he said. "But that don't mean I ain't got no time for food."

Nico laughed. "How many negatives did you use in that sentence?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Three, I think."

Nico shook his head. "You've been hanging around me far too much."

Harry laughed.

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held her back.

"What?" said Hermione defensively.

Nico raised an eyebrow and carried on forwards.

"If you ask me," said Harry quietly, once Nico was out of earshot, "McLaggen looks like he _was_ Confunded. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting."

Hermione blushed.

"Oh, all right then, I did it," she whispered. "But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in -"

Harry raised his arms in surrender. "I understand that, Hermione, and I'm eternally grateful for it. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?"

"Oh be quiet," she snapped, as he smirked.

"Don't do that," she snapped again.

The smirk fell from his face. "Why not?"

"You look like Nico when you do that."

"And that's a bad thing how?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but she was interrupted.

*"What are you two doing?" demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway of the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

"Nothing," said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry's stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps towards the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the end of his walrus moustache and puffing out his enormous belly. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars. I've got McLaggen coming, and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin - I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries* - Nico di Angelo, as I'm sure you're aware, and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favour me by coming, too."

*Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not as much as look at him.

"I can't come, Professor," said Harry at once. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh dear!" said Slughorn, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation, I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!"

He bustled away out of the Hall.

"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else.

"Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!" said Hermione anxiously; Harry knew she was thinking about McLaggen.*

"I doubt you'll be alone, Ginny'll probably be invited, and we already know that Nico's going," snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.

'_If he doesn't want to be ignored then he should do something that warrants recognition!__' _snapped Tom. _'__Lazy bastard.'_

'_I still don't understand why you guys don't like Ron and Hermione,'_ said Harry.

'_They don't seem genuine,'_ said Tom and James.

'_I just don't like them,'_ said Malcolm.

'_They're too sad,'_ said Andy.

'_They don't _do _anything__,' _said Jude._ 'All they do is complain and make half-arsed attempts at stuff.'_

'_I hate everyone,'_ said Saul.

'_Whatever.'_

After they had finished dinner the three made their way up to the Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner, but Nico had saved them some seats near the window. Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the _Evening Prophet _that someone had left abandoned on a chair.

Nico smiled slightly. "Did something bad happen that I'm unaware of?"

"Slughorn invited Hermione and me to supper," said Harry. "Ron wasn't."

"Acknowledged," Ron added to the end.

Harry nodded. "That too."

Nico shrugged. "You're one of several hundred that weren't invited, Ron. It's no big deal. Besides, maybe five of us were invited based on talent alone; the rest were just because they were well-connected. The Weasley family isn't well connected, I'm afraid to say. I'm sure it's no personal snub."

Ron cheered up a bit.

Nico got up and sat next to Hermione, placing his chin on her shoulder so he could read the paper. "Anything new?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulder violently. "Not really ..." She continued scanning the inside pages. "Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron - he's alright!" she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm.

"It just says he's been to the Malfoys'," said Nico, chin on Hermione's shoulder again. "'_This second search of the Death Eater's residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and ...Confiscation_ I think that says ... _of ... Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects _... Gods damn it that's a long name ... _said that his team had been acting on a confidential tip-off._'"

"Yeah, mine!" said Harry. "I told him at Kings' Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! If it's not at his house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts -"

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there Buster, let's not jump to conclusions," said Nico, smiling. "Not all objects that are harmful or Dark are very obvious about it. Similarly, not all Dark objects are harmful. Some things can be slipped through detectors because they either aren't harmful or Dark enough to be picked up by sensors, or they disguise it well. There are bags and such that hide auras; dirt cheap in Knockturn. And it could be at another Death Eater's house - he could have just been running an errand for them. We don't know about this for sure, and to say we do goes further beyond all sense of rationality then the God theory. Let's just keep it real here."

Hermione shrugged her shoulder violently again.

Nico grabbed her arm as though giving her a hug.

Hermione sighed.

Nico laughed. "You're a really comfy pillow you know Granger."

"Shut it, di Angelo."

Harry sighed. Right now, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Did he want Hermione to shut out his suggestions immediately, saying that it was searched? Did he want false comfort? Would it satisfy him, or make him more determined? Even though Nico had said it was possible that Malfoy managed to smuggle something in, did he like that idea? Did he want to be right? Now that he could accept the possibility of it happening, how was he to stop it? If items that stopped all sensory equipment existed, how could he track it? How could he prove it?

'_Seems we're in a bit of a muddle here,'_ said a voice.

'_Shut up Jude. Now is not the time.'_

'_We have time,'_ said James firmly. _We can figure this out.'_

'_I hope you're right James,'_ said Harry. _'__I really do.'_

"Hey Ron?" said Harry. "Do you think -?"

*"Oh, drop it, Harry," said Ron.

"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione, Nico and me to his stupid party! None of us _want_ to go, you know!" said Harry, firing up.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," said Ron, getting to his feet again, "I think I'll go to bed."

He stomped off towards the door to the boys' dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione staring after him* (Nico appeared to have fallen asleep after Hermione stopped her futile attempts to get him off her shoulder).

"Well," said Nico, breaking the slightly awkward silence that encompassed the group, "this is fucked up."

'_I agree,'_ said Tom.

'_You never _don't_ agree with Nico, Tom,'_ said James.

'_That's 'cause the guy is rational.'_

'_No, it's 'cause he's just as cynical and evil as you.'_

'_Oh shut up.'_

"Harry?" said the new chaser, Demelza Robins, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. "I've got a message for you."

"From Professor Slughorn?" asked Harry, sitting up hopefully.

Nico lazily opened one eye.

"No ... from Professor Snape," said Demelza. Nico's eye closed again; Harry's heart sank. "He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention - er - no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wants you to know you'll be sorting out rotten Flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions, and - and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."

Nico laughed. "Sucks to be you, man."

"Right," said Harry grimly. "Thanks, Demelza."

* * *

There were times in life when Nico di Angelo wondered what the point of life was.

Then there were times when he thought that is was to make the world a better place than it was when he found it.

Then there were those precious moments he thought it was for the people he loved.

Then there were times when he realised that it was to annoy people. These times were by far his favourite.

Right now, he was pissing off Melinda Bobbins on the topic of God and the existence of the afterlife. It was times like this he was happy to be able to say his atheistic views - people didn't take kindly to it back in America.

"What if you're wrong?" asked Melinda calmly. "You'd've wasted your entire life without worshipping God, and then, come the afterlife, you'd be like 'Oh. Fuck. I was wrong.'"

Ah, Pascal's Wager. Not a bad point. Not as good as some of her previous, though. Then again, those had been some of the best argument he had ever heard for the existence of God, so kudos to her.

"What if _you're_ wrong?" he returned. "What if you've been worshipping the wrong God all this time and pissing off the real one each time you do?"

They continued to debate for a while.

Later, they decided to just call it quits - they weren't going to persuade the other either way.

Hermione sighed. "Ugh."

"There something wrong, Sweetheart?" asked Nico.

"Will you stop with the nicknames?" Hermione hissed.

"Why?" he said, smiling charmingly. "Got a problem with 'em, Sweetie?"

"Yes!"

"What a shame," he said, still smiling. "Most women don't seem to mind it when I call them _Sweetheart_."

"Most women just want to get into bed with you," she fired back at him.

"Why yes, they do," he replied. "Rest assured, Hon, there will never be a shortage of women to fuck in my life."

Hermione glared at him. "Womaniser!"

"Yeah, no," he said. "I said that I _could_, not that I _would_. I have the utmost respect for women and, as I have said to you previously, I have a girlfriend whom I adore. While there may be no shortage of women wanting to sleep with me, doesn't mean I'm automatically going to sleep with them."

Hermione snorted. "I wonder if your girlfriend returns you feelings. She seemed pretty quiet, didn't she? One wonders if it's because she's _scared_."

Nico outright laughed at that. "Dear God, you really don't know her, do you? Lacy is just about the most strong-willed, independent, intelligent and overall amazing woman you could meet. Her, scared of me? No. I'm scared of her when she's angry, not the other way around. Then again, she's incredibly patient, so it doesn't happen that often."

"She'd have to have the patience of a saint to put up with you."

"Indeed she does. She is by far the most patient person I've ever met - kind of ironic, considering she's a redhead."

Hermione sat back and took a look at him. He still refused to wear robes; instead, he wore a dark shirt, jeans and a leather jacket with a tie. Odd? Yes. Did he look incredibly handsome regardless? Yes.

"What?" he asked, amused. "Do I have something on my face?"

"I wonder why you're so famous," she said quietly.

Nico sat back and looked at her, too. "I wonder why you're still here," he said, equally as low.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The same thing you mean by your question."

"And will you answer my question?"

"Maybe when you answer mine."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you fascinate me, Granger," he said.

Hermione cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.

"How did you, a girl with next to nothing, bar maybe a slightly above average intellect, get where you are," he elaborated, leaning forward. "How did such an ordinary person such as yourself become friends with an international celebrity, combat all these things, find out all this information, and yet not realise how valuable her friendships are? How can you have experienced so much, yet not realise the path you are on is the wrong one? How can you continue to betray everything you stand for, yet not realise what you are doing? Tell me, Sweetheart, _how are you still alive_?" He was so close to her now, she could feel his warm breath on her face.

"Talent," she replied.

He leaned away from her in a self-satisfied manner. "And there's your answer."

"What answer?"

Nico smiled, and turned back to his ice-cream.

Hermione stabbed hers with her spoon, and concluded that Nico di Angelo would one day be the death of her.

"Anything else you've kept from everyone?" murmured Nico out of the corner of his mouth.

"If I've kept it from everyone," she replied, "why would I tell you?"

"Just because you don't tell me, doesn't mean I don't know."

She turned back to him again. "If you know all of this," she said, "why don't you just tell Harry?"

"Because unlike some people," he said, "I care about Harry's feelings -"

Okay. Ouch. _That _one hit home.

"- and so realise that the betrayal of trust from you and Weasley would crush him. Maybe you can save your friendship; maybe. But the way it's going, I don't think you will. All we can hope for is that Harry doesn't take it as bad as I think he will."

"I think you underestimate him."

"No. I think you expect too much from him. He's a child, Sweetie; we're all children. Children shouldn't fight wars, yet we do. And the fact that we aren't disputing this means that we aren't any better than the enemies we're trying to fight."

"When do you stop being a child?"

The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Do we ever?"

* * *

******* If you're unaware as to what this is, it's making a kind of zero with your hand, then making a wanking gesture. Now you know how to start a fight in a pub, because we Brits do not go to **_**bars**_**. We go to **_**pubs**_**, because we're classy like that.**

******** Not sure if Harry really is 5 foot 10 inches, but it doesn't specify, so I just guessed. Why 5'10? Because Harry is described as being short but then growing a lot. One concludes he is slightly above average height from that. Average height of an adult male in Britain is 5'9, so Harry is 5'10.**

**I understand the debate had between Melinda Bobbins and Nico at the end may be a bit touchy, and I mean no offence, but in my mind, Nico is a very philosophical person who enjoys having debates. Melinda Bobbins is a blank slate, so I can do what I want with her character.**

**I'll be going on holiday today (or yesterday, or last week, or last year, depending on when you read this) so I decided to write a chapter for you. I hope you like it, even though it's not published yet and probably won't be for a while.**

**Bye!**

**~ EN.**


	12. Alternatives

**Chapter Eleven - Alternatives  
****A.K.A Silver and Opals**

**Random thought of the chapter: Having a shower, not drying your hair and then going outside in temperatures below freezing is not a good idea. Doesn't matter if it's itching your neck because you can't be bothered to untuck it from your scarf, it will freeze.**

**Am I speaking from personal experience? Yes. Yes I am. **

**This is how you know how long it's been since I started writing this. The episode I'm talking about happened when I was skiing. In January. Hehe. Sorry!**

**Chapter Content: About 50% of it is me introducing a concept that isn't mentioned in any books except slightly alluded to in the PJO/KC crossovers. Have fun with 'em.**

**Just so y'all know, after bouncing a few ideas back-and-forth with my unofficial beta Satan Gave Me A Taco (yes, that really _is_ their name) Nico's going to turn into a real dick around here. We're talking lying, manipulation, references to past infidelity, and just generally quite psychopathic behaviour. I've not quite decided whether or not I'm going to make him into a bad guy yet. I won't let you know when I make my decision - you'll just have to find out.**

**I'm still not reading reviews, so if you really, honestly want to let me know your opinion, you're just going to have to PM me. I'm happy to bounce ideas around with anyone, provided you have good spelling, punctuation and grammar.**

* * *

Harry felt ever so slightly abandoned. Over the next few weeks, he caught sight of the Headmaster only twice, and no scrolls announcing new lessons came. He rarely appeared at meals anymore, and Harry was sure Hermione and Nico were right in saying that he was leaving the school for days at a time. When Dumbledore had told Harry that the lessons would help him survive the prophecy, he had felt bolstered; confident. Now, though? Not so much.

Halfway through October came their first Hogsmeade trip of the term, and Harry was woken at about three in the morning by Nico getting up. He wasn't really surprised: Nico was around almost less than Dumbledore now.

"What're you doin'?" asked Harry sleepily.

Nico rolled his eyes. "I have a _job_, Harry."

"Oh yeah," he said, remembering. "I forgot."

"I can tell."

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. *He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behaviour, as Ron rightly said, was indecent of anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Prince's copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realised how much was in there, not only handy hints and short cuts on potions that were earning his such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.*

It was this, and Nico's little messages (_Good for private conversations_; _Prank spell_; _Use on Filch_) that made Harry really want to learn how to both write a spell, and figure out what one would do just by knowing the incantation. There were a some (though very few) where Nico had made the note _Unsafe - don't use unless desperate_ and _Possibly lethal - use sparingly, _which sometimes scared Harry.

He had tried some of the ones that were defined as perfectly safe, with near-perfect results. A hex labelled _Prank spell_ had caused Crabbe's toenails to grow alarmingly fast when Harry had tried it on him in the corridor, a jinx labelled _Try on Filch_ glued the tongue to the roof of the mouth (this had been used to general applause) and possibly the most useful one, _Muffliato_, which filled the ears of anyone nearby with unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy conversations could be held in class without being overheard. *The only person who did not find these charms amusing was Hermione, who maintained a rigidly disapproving expression throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the _Muffliato_ spell on anyone in the vicinity.

Sitting up in bed, Harry turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instruction for a spell that seemed to have caused the Prince some trouble. There were many crossings-out and alterations, but finally, crammed into a corner of the page, the scribble:

_Levicorpus (n-vbl)_*

There was a long line from the opposite page to the spell where Nico had written _Just for kicks_.

"Weather outside's lookin' shite," said Nico conversationally.

Harry looked outside. Wind and sleet pounded relentlessly on the windows and, for a moment, the entire room was lit up by a flash of lightning.

"Yup," he agreed.

"Now where's my shirt?" Nico muttered to himself.

"You must have several thousand shirts," said Harry. "Just use one of those."

Nico sighed and shook his head. "_No_, Harry, I cannot just use _any_ shirt."

"Why not?"

"Because, believe it or not, I don't always wear black -"

"Yes," said Harry. "I know. I've seen you in purple, orange and green too."

"And several others," Nico added. "Point being, I don't always wear black, meaning I can very easily lose track of where a particular black shirt is. It's a right pain when your character wears nothing _but_ black."

"Would've thought the costume department would have a spare."

"Obviously, but it'd be embarrassing to admit I'd lost something."

"You've got too much pride."

"No such thing, Potter. No such thing."

Harry sighed and looked back at his book. _N-vbl _... that had to mean non-verbal.

Tom laughed evilly. _'__This is gonna be _fun_!'_

Jude agreed. _'__Fun, fun, fun, fun!' _he sang.

'_Has anyone got any objections?'_ asked James. _'__No-one at all? Not even _you_, Malcolm?'_

'_It's for discovery purposes__,'_ said Malcolm.

Nico had managed to find his shirt and was leaning against the door frame, about to leave.

"Go on," he said. "Just for kicks."

Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, Harry gave it an upward flick and said _'__Levicorpus!'_ inside his head.

"Aaaaaaaargh!"

There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell. Harry sent _Advanced Potion-Making_ flying in panic; Ron was dangling upside-down as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.

"Sorry!" yelled Harry, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter and Neville picked himself up from the floor, having fallen out of bed. "Hand on - I'll let you down -"

'_Counter-jinx is _Liberacorpus_,' _Malcolm informed him.

Upon casting, there was another flash of light and Ron fell in a heap on his mattress.

"Sorry," repeated Harry weakly, while Seamus and Dean continued to roar with laughter.

In the confusion, Nico had slipped disappeared.

'_Son of a –!'_ started Jude.

'Some_ voices here__,'_ said Tom, _'__are seven years old. They do not need to hear this.'_

'_Hear what?'_ asked Andy.

'_Nothing_,_'_ said Malcolm.

"Tomorrow," said Ron in a voice muffled by his pillow, "I'd rather you set the alarm clock."

Due to it still being three-or-so in the morning, most of them went back to sleep for a few hours.

Harry just continued to flick through the book.

_Vesania_ one read. Surprisingly, it wasn't in the Prince's handwriting, but in Nico's.

_Works best n-vbl_, it continued. _Used to permanently incapacitate without death._

Pulling a face, Harry turned the page.

* * *

Percy Jackson turned the necklace over in his hands again. _'__What to do?'_ he sang in his head. _'__What to do?'_

He knew what the necklace did, obviously. He knew who made it, who sold it, who brought it, who intended to buy it, how many owners it had previously had, who had cursed it, and basically everything there was to know about it. It was all written on the sheet of paper in front of him on his overly-cluttered desk.

No, he could _not_ be bothered to tidy it. He had the entire biography of half the Western population in front of him; sue him if he couldn't be bothered to clean it!

He chewed his lip absentmindedly. This necklace could do so much good and so much evil. It all depended on the purpose it was used for. He could send it to Draco Malfoy; at least that way he would know what it would be used for. Or, he could keep it. It could stay locked in a safe in the basement with numerous other deadly weapons, to be found by whoever could crack the code. He _could _send it to a Death Eater in an attempt to assassinate them, of course, but he knew that it wouldn't work. They'd realise what it was, and then it could be used against him. He'd ruled that out almost immediately.

'_It shouldn't even be a questio__n,'_ Percy mused. _'__I should just throw it in the basement with all the other dangerous items that find their way into my hands and forget about it.'_

But he still couldn't put it away, and manipulative thoughts began creeping into his brain, as they did all too often lately.

'_If I gave it to Draco Malfoy,' _he thought,_ 'I already know that he would give it to Katie Bell. A quick bargain with the Fates ensures that she'll be the one to touch it, and that she'll live, and I can put a spell on it that means she can't feel the pain. Harry will naturally suspect Malfoy, whereas Ron and Hermione won't. It'll be just one more push before their entire friendship comes crumbling down, and I can make sure Dumbledore can't do any more to harm Harry. And I can get Nico out of that wretched institution earlier.'_

Percy shook his head. There _had_ to be a better way. There _had_ to be.

He hated manipulating others. He hated that Harry would undoubtedly be incredibly upset about it. He hated that he was, for all intents and purposes, as bad as Dumbledore.

'_No,' _he told himself, _'__you're not. You've got Harry's best interests at heart; Dumbledore doesn't.'_

The excuse was weak, even to his own ears.

The necklace twirled through his fingers again, and the idea came to him.

Smiling, Percy placed the necklace on the desk. An identical copy simmered into existence next to the original.

'_Quick talk with the Fates, a nice charm, a simple letter to the right person and it'll all be fine.'_

Smiling, Percy left to tempt Fate … literally.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was worried. Very, very worried.

He needed to off Dumbledore, preferably soon. He knew the vanishing cabinet wouldn't be fixed until the end of the year, and he knew the poisoned mead wouldn't work until Christmas at the earliest. The only other option he had managed to think of had been the necklace, but, according to Borgin, it had been stolen the night after he had inquired about it.

He ran a hand through his greasy blond locks with a grimace. What to do, what to do?

He walked back up to his dormitory. There, on his bed, lay a package.

_Dragon of Bad Faith, _the accompanying letter read,_ apparently this was stolen from Borgin and Burkes over the summer, shortly after you wished to purchase it. I know what you've been tasked to do, and I know how you intend to accomplish it. I hope returning this to you will help._

_An accomplice_

_P.S. Be careful with the item; it's very dangerous._

_Dragon of Bad Faith, _Draco mused. That could only be him. And there was only one thing that could be in that package.

_It's dangerous_, the letter read.

Draco snorted. _No shit, Sherlock_.

He cocked his head to the side. He hadn't said that phrase in ages; not since he had heard some filthy Mudblood using the same phrase. They didn't have the right to use a phrase that had one of the best Light wizard catcher's name in it.

The story of the Dark Lord Sherlock had always been Draco's favourite bedtime story.

Using a piece of conjured cloth, Draco carefully picked up the necklace.

The eerie light that light up his prematurely-lined face would have been perfect for a horror movie, had it been dark out.

* * *

After having some time to sleep and the shock had worn off, Ron had decided that Harry's knew spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down for breakfast.

"... and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!" grinned Ron, helping himself to sausages.

Harry paused in his shovelling of Coco-Pops past his numerous scarves when he realised something that didn't bode well: Hermione hadn't cracked a smile during this little anecdote - not even a small one. She turned to him, her expression pure wintry disapproval.

*"Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?" she asked.

Harry frowned at her.

"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?"

"Was it?"

"Well ... yeah, it was, but so what?"

"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"*

"It wasn't unknown!" said Harry. "I asked Nico if it was safe -"

"Nico isn't an authority on these things!" she snapped. "It's still not Ministry-approved. Plus," she continued, "I'm starting to think this Prince is a bit of a dodgy character."

Harry really wished Nico was here. He had the ability to make one snarky comment that would stun Hermione for long enough to change the topic. Harry hadn't always liked how rude his friends were to each other, but it wasn't like Nico's rudeness wasn't deserved ... Hermione hadn't even tried...

'_Neither did Nico, though_,_'_ said Malcolm softly.

'_Nico's good at reading people,'_ said Tom.

"It was just a laugh!" said Ron, up-ending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"Dangling people upside-down by the ankles?" said Hermione. "Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?"

"Fred and George," said Ron, shrugging, "it's their kind of thing. And, er -"

"My dad," said Harry, echoing his voices.

"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.

"My dad used this spell," said Harry. "Lupin told me."

The last part was a lie; Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be -?

"Maybe your dad did use it Harry," said Hermione, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless."

Harry stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled. Then he snorted. Then he outright laughed.

'_My turn__,'_ said Tom.

"You know what else Death Eaters used, Hermione?" he said between bouts of borderline maniacal laughter. "_Stupefy, expelliarmus, wingardium leviosa. _Actually, they've used all spells we're currently learning about. You don't want to use any spells they've used, you can just drop out of Hogwarts, obliviate yourself, snap your wand and go live as a Muggle. Go on then; go!"

Tom smiled, eyes alight with curiosity.

"That's not what I meant," said Hermione.

"Exactly," said Tom. "Just because _they _misused it, doesn't mean I or anyone else will. My dad and I were just using it for a laugh. You just don't like the Prince because he's better than you at Potions -"

"It's got nothing to do with that!" said Hermione, cheeks red. "I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for -"

"I _did_ know what it was for," said Tom. It was a lie, yet not a lie; an embellishment, if you will. But it was okay, because Tom had never had any qualms about lying to get his way. "How many times must I tell you? You just don't like The Prince, do you?"

"Stop talking about 'the Prince' as if it's his title," she said. "I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and he doesn't even seem like a nice person to me!"

Tom looked at her in a rather odd manner. He pushed his head out and squinted as though trying to see if there was something wrong with her. "Where could you possibly be getting that from?" he asked. "The majority of budding Death Eaters don't boast about being 'Half-Blood', do they? Even if he _was_ a Death Eater, that doesn't mean his accomplishments are any less valuable."

"There aren't enough pure-blood wizards left for the Death Eaters to all be pure-bloods," said Hermione stubbornly. "It's only Muggleborns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up!"

'_My turn!'_ said Jude.

Jude laughed. "Obviously they'd let Ron join up! His family are all blood-traitors, and that's as bad as Muggleborns to the Death Eaters. And _of course_ they'd love to have me. We'd be best buds, if only they'd stop trying to do me in!"

Hermione laughed, then turned serious. "What about Nico?"

Tom returned. He put on a show of being uncomfortable. "The Death Eaters and Nico have … well, they've a history together. Believe me when I say, as much as they may want him, Nico couldn't stand them. He really couldn't."

Hermione's eyes sharpened. "And how, pray tell, would you know that?"

Tom sat up straight in his chair. "Perhaps Nico trusts me enough to tell me so."

"Nico doesn't trust anyone."

"And how, pray tell," he mimicked, "would you know that?"

"Nico and I have classes together that you two do not," said Hermione. "We have talked. That's why we don't get on."

"Of course it is. It couldn't possibly be that you judged him before you met him and made no attempt at a friendship, could it?"

"I have apologised _more_ than my fair share of times!" Hermione announced defensively.

"I'm sure," Tom drawled in reply.

Before Hermione could respond with a no doubt scathing comment, distraction arrived in the form of Ginny.

*"Hey Harry, I'm supposed to give you this."

It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.

"Thanks, Ginny ... it's Dumbledore's next lesson!" Harry told Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. "Monday evening!" He felt suddenly light and happy. "Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?" he asked.

"I'm going with Dean – might see you there," she replied.*

Harry nodded. He didn't feel as disappointed as he thought he would. "Hope you guys have fun, then."

"I'm sure we will," said Ginny, smiling. "Might see you there?"

"Sure," said Harry.

Ginny waved, and then left.

Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than usual as Filch was triple-checking everyone with his Secrecy Sensor.

"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" demanded Ron, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. "Surely you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?"*

"Way to make yourself look like a suspect, Dickhead," muttered Harry.

Their cheek earned them both a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and they were still wincing as the trio stepped out into the wind and sleet.

Harry sighed.

* * *

Lacy Evans was what many people would describe as the 'ideal' woman. A little under 5'3", slender, soft-spoken and intelligent, no criminal record, empathetic, patient, well-connected and talented. She was also well aware of this, and used it to get about as far as one could as a sixteen-year-old Canadian female.

The Camps were the fast-tracks to success, there was no question about it. Being a member of Cabin 10 meant that an awful lot of her cabin mates went on to fashion-related careers, and nearly ever Cabin 10 member modelled for them at one point. Career as a model made, her name now well-know, she embarked on a way to become even more of a household name by going into the musical industry. She was still having discussions with her manager (and cousin, from Cabin 7) as to which genre her second album should be (her first one had been a pop album which, despite its commercial success, she hadn't been very fond of).

Of course, to have a musical career, one had to have songs. And those songs needed to be written.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

What to write?

Subject matter first.

Love came to mind first, but Lacy shook her head. Too typical. Too … what people would expect her to write about.

Depression? Nope, she couldn't do that realistically. She had never been depressed. Maybe Nico could help her? No, she refused to bother him for something so trivial.

Sex was always a go-to subject for near all songwriters, but Lacy could hardly call herself an expert on it, so a no to that too.

Expectations.

Why not?

_Tap, tap, tap_, went her pen.

'_Alright then, Evans,'_ she said to herself, _'first line. Go!'_

Nada.

Her phone rang.

"Ugh!" groaned Lacy. What could it be now?

She brightened up when she saw the caller ID. "Nico!"

"_Bonjour, ma Chérie_!" he greeted happily. "_Ça va_?"

**Hello, my dear. How are you?**

"_Ça va super, maintenant que tu es ici_," she laughed.

**Super, now you're here.**

"_En fait, je ne suis pas lá. Je suis á Californie, pour le film._"

**Actually I'm not there. I'm in California, for the film.**

"Oh, _la ferme_!" she said. "_Tu sais ce que je voulais dire._"

**Oh, shut up. You know what I meant [to say].**

"_Oui, je fais._"

**Yes, I do.**

"Anyway," she said, "what did you call for?

"Is it wrong for me to just want to talk to my girlfriend?"

"Of course it's not," she replied. "Just unlike you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's face it Nico; you're hardly the Prince Charming every girl dreams of."

"Point taken." She could hear his grin through the phone. "I was actually calling to say that I want to spend as long as possible away from Hogwarts, so I was wondering if you want to go out to dinner later."

"Is that all I am?" she joked. "A way to avoid people you don't want to talk to?"

"Not just, but it's certainly a plus."

"Then what else am I useful for?"

"Other things."

"Such as?"

"You really wanna go there, _ma Chérie_?"

Lacy laughed. "I get the picture, thanks. Any particular time frame in mind?"

"Sometime between six and seven?"

"Which time zone?"

"California."

"Which is … what time, Quebecois?"

"Nine-ish, I think."

"I'm not doing anything more important."

"Glad to see I'm so high on your priority list."

"Love you too, Hon."

Nico laughed. "See you at six/nine/two in the morning?"

"I'll see you there."

"Bye."

Nico hung up.

Lacy smiled and put down her phone.

"Right," she muttered to herself. "So ... the song."

_Tap, tap, tap_.

* * *

The walk into Hogsmeade was about as enjoyable as how trying to have sex with Severus Snape probably was – that is to say, painful, mentally straining, and embarrassing as you tried desperately to act like you were enjoying yourself when in actuality you just wanted to go home.

At least, that was what Harry imagined it would be like. He had had no experience with sex in any form, let alone with Snape.

'_You're welcome for the analogy, by the way,'_ said Jude.

'_Yes, Jude,'_ muttered Harry, _'I thank you incessantly for giving me perverted ideas on things I never wanted perverted ideas on. I shall never be able to get the mental images you gave me out of my head.'_

'_I second that notion,'_ said Tom.

'_Actually, it's not a notion,'_ said Malcolm. _'It's a thought.'_

'_I second the thought then.'_

'_As do I.'_

'_Smarmy arsehole.'_

Harry sighed. Sometimes it astounded him that, really, these voices were just figments of his imagination.

If only to confirm Jude's thoughts on this trip, upon entering Hogsmeade, they saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up. If that didn't say, 'This isn't going to be fun', Harry didn't know what would.

Ron's thickly gloved hand pointed towards the (mercifully open) Honeydukes. The three of them staggered into the shop.

*"Thank God," shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. "Let's stay here all afternoon."

"Harry, m'boy!" said a booming voice from behind them.

"Oh no," muttered Harry. The three of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystallized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

"Harry, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'boy, I'm determined to have you! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, "they're really —"

"So why don't you come along, Harry?" demanded Slughorn.

"Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor," said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.* Extra points were awarded if you could accurately imitate Nico's facial expressions whenever he was faced with McLaggen.

*"Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all the, hard work!" said Slughorn. "But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather..."

"I can't, Professor, I've got — er — an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening."

"Unlucky again!" cried Slughorn dramatically. "Ah, well ... you can't evade me forever, Harry!"

And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.

"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," said Hermione, shaking her head. "They're not that bad, you know ... They're even quite fun sometimes ..." But then she caught sight of Ron's expression. "Oh, look — they've got deluxe sugar quills — those would last hours!"

Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large sugar quills than he would normally have done, but Ron continued to look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," said Harry. "It'll be warm."

They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks. One was very tall and thin; squinting through his rain-washed glasses Harry recognized the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when Harry realized who the man was.

"Mundungus!"*

**Just read HBP, nothing much changes from here until the end of chapter twelve.**

Something was niggling in the back of Harry's head.

Something about the necklace, but he wasn't sure what …

It wasn't until they were back in the Common Room that he realised what it was.

"Nico!" he said loudly.

"Where?" asked Ron, looking around.

"No, no, no!" Harry said, shaking his head. "Nico had the necklace! Remember?"

Hermione gasped. "Of course! He took it from Borgin and Burkes! How did we forget that?"

"I don't know," said Harry, thinking hard. The memory, despite seeming to be branded in his memory only earlier that day, was faded and hazy now.

Now, having multiple personas that took over at different times meant that Harry was very used to forgetting things, or having odd senses of déjà vu when reading a book, or sitting down to do homework only to realise it had already been done, but he'd never had a crystal-clear memory suddenly fade before.

"Harry!" Nico's voice suddenly rang out.

Harry turned in his chair, and saw Nico manoeuvring his way through the many people in the Common Room

"Harry," he said, stopping by his chair, out of breath. "Percy called … the necklace … is –."

"Gone," said Harry. "We know."

Nico looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean: 'we know'?"

"Exactly what I just said," said Harry.

"You're being very curt."

"Yes, because you said you'd take care of the necklace!"

"I said I'd give it to Camp! That's about as secure as it gets!"

"Than how come Katie Bell managed to be given it and nearly died?"

"We don't know! That's why we're freaking out about it so much!"

"You _said_ it would be secure!"

"I thought it would be!"

"Well you were wrong!"

'_Please stop shouting Harry,'_ said Andy. _'It's making me sad.'_

"We have hundreds of items like that! We can't keep individual tabs on each of them!"

"Why on earth isn't there more security on them?"

"Most people at Camp are immune to them! They don't pose a threat to us! We aren't going to waste resources on stuff that can't hurt us!"

They'd attracted a crowd by now. Everyone in the Gryffindor Common Room was staring at the two of them, probably wondering what the fuck they were talking about.

Harry took a deep breath. "Why don't you start from the beginning? When did you realise the necklace was missing?"

Nico shrugged. "Routine check about an hour ago."

"Do you know when it's estimated to have gone missing?"

"We don't know for sure, but we think late yesterday, early today. America time. So early morning to midday here.

"Can you track it?"

Nico made a contemptuous noise. "Duh! Ain't gonna help, though."

"Why?"

"Think about it," Nico prodded.

"I am," snapped Harry. "I can't think of something! We don't all have an IQ so high we're socially retarded!"

"Uncalled for."

"Totally called for."

Nico's eyes flickered around the Common Room. He grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Come on," he muttered. "Don't want to be overheard."

Harry let Nico drag him out of the Common Room, ignoring Ron and Hermione's curious glances.

As soon as they were out of the Common Room, Nico let go of Harry's shoulder, but didn't slow his almost inhuman pace.

"Oi!" Harry called. "What's all this about?"

"Just follow me!" Nico snapped over his shoulder.

Harry sighed, but followed anyway.

After winding through more of the castle than Harry had ever seen before (including going up a staircase Harry had never been aware of existing, and he doubted it was on the Marauder's Map), they finally reached a spot Nico apparently deemed acceptable.

Harry braced his hands on his knees. "Was all that speed-walking _really_ necessary?" he said breathlessly.

"Oh man up, ya pansy!" Nico snapped. "Do you even understand this?"

With a jolt of irritation, Harry remembered why Nico had brought them here. "Well I can't if you don't tell me! What do you mean, it's no use trying to track it?"

"Come on Potter! Think!" Nico snarled. "You've got alters! Get them to do it! One of them, of however many there are, must have an idea of why!"

Harry shook his head, slowly gaining his breath back. "I can't just call them out at will; they choose when."

"Yeah, and people choose when they do things _my_ way; that doesn't mean I can't try and get them to do it!"

Closing his eyes, Harry tried desperately to call on his alters, despite the fact that they had been silent for some time now. _'Tom? Please help. I kinda need you.'_

No response.

'_Please Tom?'_

Nothing.

'_Malcolm?'_

No.

'_James? Jude? Andy or Saul, even?'_

They were all silent.

Harry opened his eyes slowly.

"Well?" Nico demanded.

"They don't seem to want to talk to me at the moment."

Nico let out a cry of frustration and punched the wall. There was a loud _'crack!'_

"Oh God!" said Harry. "Are you okay?"

Nico waved him off, clutching his now-bloodied hand to his chest. "Superficial," he dismissed sharply. "I guess I need to explain it to you, do I?"

"Stop making me feel like a child!"

"You _are_ a child! We're all children!"

Harry bit his lip furiously. Finally, after calming himself down, he said, "Okay, fine, I get it. What I don't get, though, is why there's no use in tracking the necklace."

Nico sat down on the floor by the pillar he had just punched, wrapping his hand in his deep green shirt. "Come sit."

Harry sat.

Nico was silent for a moment. "I think, to truly understand this, you've got to understand the history between Magical Britain and America. Being raised in the Mortal – or Muggle – world, you know about World War Two, right? How America and Britain were allies and defeated Hitler and Mussolini with the help of the Soviet Union, right?"

"Wasn't aware of the whole Mussolini thing, but yeah."

"Mussolini was an Italian dictator who sided with Hitler," Nico dismissed. "Not important right now. Either way, you've obviously heard about how Grindelwald was basically the wizard version of Hitler, right?"

Harry nodded.

"And that Dumbledore defeated in this epic duel that everyone knows about but that no-one _actually_ knows about?"

Harry frowned at the slight against Dumbledore, but nodded again.

Nico turned to face him directly. "Good, we've got the basics. Now onto some more complex Arithmantic theories."

"But I don't know Arithmancy!" Harry objected.

"Well, after the lecture I'm about to give you, you could pass your O.W.L. Camp's one, that is. This course doesn't cover anything important."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"In short, there are several planes and states of existence – exactly how many, we aren't sure, but there are lots. Within each single plane is lots of different, sub-planes. The one we're currently in alone has the Mortal – Muggle – plane, the wizard/witch plane – that's you –, and the Half-Blood plane – that's me. Essentially, I exist in what is potentially an entirely different universe to you."

Harry whistled. "Jeez, we're gettin' deep here."

Nico nodded. "As I said, complex Arithmancy. This works out through some kind of mathematical sum that is far, _far_ too complex to explain to you right now, but that I may in the future, should we have time.

"Anyway, theory goes that whatever happens here is in some way reflected in each parallel plane. For example, you were orphaned in what was essentially a terrorist attack on your home. In the Mortal plane, a child was orphaned by an IRA attack in Ireland and, again, left with abusive relatives. In the Half-Blood plane … well, so many of us are abused orphans, I can't give you an exact doppelganger for yourself, but rest assured that there is one. Or don't; I don't really care.

"Point being, war breaks out on one plane, you've got an identical one on another. They may seem to be on different scales, but they're the same representative to population size.

"The Second World War was fought on all three planes. Mortals had Hitler, Wizards had Grindelwald and … well, Hitler was actually _us_, but he had more influence with the Mortals than he did with us, but we had a couple in the mix too."

"What cabin was Hitler in, by the way?"

"Er – Thirteen, actually. And Stalin, too. Genghis Khan was in Five, and Mussolini is just Mortal, with a very, _very_ distant connection to One. Of course, we also have Helen Keller, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, but basically, if they're an influential historical figure, they have some connection to us."

"So basically, what you're telling me is that a lot of people that I grew up thinking were just regular people, actually existed in an entirely alternate universe from me?"

"Yeah, basically."

"All right, but what does this have to do with the necklace?"

Nico took a deep breath. "Okay, here's where it gets complicated."

"More complicated than multiple planes of existence that somehow manage to influence my plane of existence where there are other versions of myself?" asked Harry wryly.

"Yup."

"Sounds fun."

"'Tis. You actually touched on this point just now; how can things in alternate dimensions influence yours?"

"Well yeah; I'd've thought that'd be one of the first things people thought of."

"It's a valid question. Answer is: we don't know. We just know it causes all sorts of problems."

"How so?"

"Well … to take World War Two as an example, that was on three planes, right? Thing is, you also got things from those different planes merging together. Hitler went from Half-Blood to Mortal; Grindelwald went from Wizard to Mortal; quite a few Half-Bloods went to all three, although none went from Mortal to anything, and no-one went from Wizard to Half-Blood. Half-Blood is mutually exclusive for some reason.

"Now, in theory, this should have worked out alright. You know, planes merge a bit, work together, overthrow evil dictators, and never talk to each other again. By all rights, that's what should've happened. Only it didn't, and the planes merged a LOT more than we thought, so now we're all fucked."

"Wait, I'm confused," said Harry. "How does this whole 'merging of planes' happen?" He made a merging gesture with his hands.

"Again, short answer is 'We don't know'. We're researching it right now. Thing is, and here's where it gets REALLY complicated, there's a fourth, and possible fifth plane."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "You're kidding me."

"I am not. This fourth plane is called the _Mist_, and also goes by the name, _The Duat_. Thing is, they don't work like regular planes. They kind of exist, and kind of don't. Imagine them like a half-formed plane; they _exist_, technically, but they don't have any real shape or purpose."

"Mmkay, got it," said Harry. His head was spinning from all of this new information.

"So, because it's only half-formed, it can be manipulated. I've probably mentioned The Mist to you a couple times. If you manipulate it – so that you can change people's memories and stuff – you can essentially control another dimension."

"Cool," Harry breathed. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there Buster, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Nico said. "In reference to what this has to do with the necklace … well, everyone involved in World War Two was worried about Grindelwald and Hitler and whatnot, so we shared a lot of information with the wizards – British ones especially – that we later realized was _not_ good. This included information about the planes. Several would-be Dark Lords ended up using this information in an attempt to overtake Britain – now that they knew about what was essentially our secret weapon during the war, they could accomplish what Grindelwald and every other Dark Lord in history couldn't: they could overtake Britain and Europe and eventually even America, wreaking havoc and despair wherever they went. So, after this, we basically went over to Britain and said, incredibly untactfully, as is the American way, 'Look, guys, this alliance has been fun and all, but it's not working out, so we're going to need all our information back and we're gonna wipe your memories too. Just to be safe.' Bet you can imagine how they reacted to that."

"Badly."

"Yup!" Nico said, popping the 'p'. "Seeing as this had also happened in Russia, _they_ reacted even worse. Guess what the parallel was in the Mortal world?"

"The Cold War?"

"Spot on. So now we've got a stalemate, not only between three countries in the Mortal plane, but also between all three dimensions – we'd also shared this with President Truman and Prime Minister Churchill, and with later Prime Ministers and Presidents, so _they_ weren't very happy about it, either. Eventually, we just ended up sending spies in, stealing all documents about the planes, and using the Mist to wipe everyone's memories. Since then, we've let every plane think they're the only one, that theirs was the only war fought, blah, blah, blah. Of course, now we've got these planes merging again, and it could be catastrophic."

Harry paused a moment. "Okay," he said uncertainly, "but how does this relate to the necklace?"

"Think about it," Nico prodded. "If we – Half-Bloods – are the only plane with knowledge of the other planes, where are we going to keep our most valuable things?"

"In the … the other planes! You're keeping the necklace and stuff in the Mist – the Duat? – or whatever, aren't you?"

Nico nodded.

"And if the necklace's been stolen, and it was kept in the Mist -."

"If it's being used to store items, we refer to it as _The Duat_."

"The Duat, then. But, if it's being stored in the Duat, and it's been stolen, that means someone has to have access to the Duat, then?"

Nico nodded.

"And if it's in Britain … Magical Britain more to the point …"

Nico nodded and made a _'carry on'_ gesture with his left hand.

"That means someone's learnt about the different planes, and how to travel between them."

Nico nodded triumphantly. "Exactly! But there's more to it than that."

"More?" asked Harry weakly. He didn't think he could take any more information overload right now.

"Oh, don't worry," said Nico. "It's not huge. Well, two things, actually, but they're kind of intertwined."

"How so?"

"Remember how earlier, I talked about the merging of the planes?"

Harry nodded.

"And how it would be a disaster?"

He nodded again.

"That's also a possibility. If the planes are merging, it'll become much easier to travel between them."

"How is that a bad thing? I mean, other than the obvious thing of you storing valuable things in a different plane."

"There a lot of different things in my plane, Harry. We're talking monsters, magicians, deities and immortal beings. We're talking scary-ass shit that wants to destroy you. We're talking beings that would gladly ally with Voldemort, Grindelwald, Hitler, Putin, Kim Jong-Un, any evil dictator you want to name – they would sell what remained of their soul if it meant killing just one of us, one of you, a Mortal. Anything. That's why Half-Bloods are so different to Wizards are so different to Mortals; you have different monsters, have adapted different defence mechanisms; you're an entirely different species to us, who're an entirely different species to Mortals. Maybe one day we can merge different planes in a peaceful way and not risk the lives of billions, but that day isn't today. It won't be tomorrow. It won't be the next day. It probably won't be in the millennium, even. It may never even happen."

Harry nodded. "What was the second point, by the way?"

Nico laughed. "Minor, compared to the last one. The person who took it obviously came to England. They'd be tried as a British citizen. We'd have to provide evidence. That evidence would, at the very least, make us reveal important information about how we work. With all the spies Tom Riddle has in the ministry, it's not safe. At the worst. We'll have to reveal the existence of the planes. The Ministry wouldn't listen to us when we say to not experiment; they didn't last time. It would be a disaster."

"What do you mean, 'last time'?"

"You know about the veil? In the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"That's a portal. Straight to the Duat."

"So Sirius is …?"

"In the Duat, yes."

Harry felt a brilliant idea forming in his head. "If he's in the Duat, that means he's still alive, just in a different dimension! We could -!"

"No, Harry," said Nico sharply. "I hate to burst your bubble, but that's not how the Duat works, _especially_ not through that portal. Travelling through planes is risky for even professionals like me – we're talking to the Duat and Mist, by the way. In theory, anyone can travel through the other dimensions – and is safest at highly guarded portals. The Veil in the Department of Mysteries is riskier than having no direct portal at all, and Sirius wasn't prepared in the slightest. His mortal soul would have been crushed into shards and practically out of existence. He couldn't have survived."

Harry's heart sank. "Okay then," he whispered.

Nico brought him into a one-armed hug. "I'm sorry about breaking it to you so harshly, mate, but labouring under false pretences isn't helping anyone."

"I know," Harry said. "It's just … he was the closest thing to family I had, y'know?"

Nico smiled grimly, letting go of Harry. "Be thankful you had any time with him at all. That's more than some of us get."

Harry nodded, acknowledging the point.

"Come on," Nico said, standing up. "I need to go see Madam Pomfrey, and no doubt everyone in the Gryffindor Common Room is freaking out, wondering what the Big, Bad American has done with their precious Golden Boy."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I need some rest."

"I can imagine."

"Oh, and Nico?"

"Yeah?"

"How on Earth did you expect me to know that?"

Nico smiled sheepishly. "I was more hoping you'd pick up on the fact that to prosecute them, we'd have to testify to the Ministry, and that, with all Tom Riddle's spies in there, it wouldn't be safe. Plus, we're a very secretive bunch, so the excuse of a cursed necklace would _not_ have flown with us."

"Oh, okay."

"Now come on, ya bastard. This hand is killin' me."

Harry laughed and they walked off to Madam Pomfrey's.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did not consider himself an idiot. Not even close. _Au contraire_, he considered himself a borderline genius. As such, he knew when he was being toyed with and conspired against almost all of the time, and the ones he missed were those so petty they weren't worth his time.

He knew what Nico di Angelo and his family were trying to do.

It was funny really; they all thought he was arrogant, not protecting his mind, thinking he was infallible. How hypocritical of them to discuss their plans in the open without checking for bugging devices and other such items. Sure, they had placed a privacy bubble, but they hadn't taken into account the various items that could be placed _inside_ the bubble. He had laughed out loud when he'd heard that.

His wrinkled face curved into a frown as he saw di Angelo and Harry talking in a hallway. Damn it! Di Angelo had actually shoved all of the bugs out of the area with his privacy bubble!

He could see them, though, so he tried to lip read. No luck; Nico appeared to have taken no chances with this.

Dumbledore sat back and steepled his fingers. Never mind. Harry would tell him in the future, whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

_**Et … Fini!**_

**Didja like it? Didja, didja, didja? I don't know how I feel about this chapter … I had major writers' block, so the writing wasn't particularly good, but then the whole plot bunny of the planes came into my head and … IDK man, I felt like it had to be written down. It's quite a plot hinge, though, so you'll just have to live with it. Or stop reading the story. Your choice.**

**Mmkay, bye!**

**~ Emmy**

**P.S. If you can't tell, I'd had quite a bit of sugar upon typing this A/N.**


	13. Fly

**Chapter Twelve – Fly  
****A.K.A The Secret Riddle  
****A.K.A That Chapter When The Story Actually Starts**

**Beware: OOC Percy. Because it fits my plot better. Besides, I've never had any problems with making character OOC before, so …**

**Random thought of the chapter: Why does every politics book I read automatically assume I know everything about politics? Obviously I don't or I wouldn't be reading them!**

**Shout out to my unofficial beta, Satan Gave Me A Taco, for putting up with all my weird ideas-bouncing, on this story and more (this includes ideas for world domination, possible new flavours of ice cream, and whether or not the moon is _actually_ made of some weird brand of space cheese. I'm not even kidding.)  
**

**Chapter summary: Nico's dickish behaviour gets kicked up a notch, Harry finally gets some action, and more of the demigods' fiendish plot to bring down Dumbledore and Tom Riddle is revealed (in part.)**

* * *

**GUYS: I STILL DON'T READ REVIEWS. PLEASE STOP IT**

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry turned in the corridor. A head of long, golden hair was bobbing through the crowd towards him.

"Hey Lou!" he replied, waving. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you," she said.

Harry looked around. Hermione, Ron and Nico were standing a couple of paces ahead. Hermione was poker-faced and Ron did an exaggerated shrug. Nico looked from Harry to Lou, then caught Harry's eye and winked suggestively.

Harry responded with an obscene hand gesture.

Nico mimed blowing a kiss.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back around.

Lou looked amused.

"What do you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

Lou looked side to side shiftily. "Come on," she said, tugging his sleeve. "Not here."

Bewildered, Harry allowed himself to be dragged away.

'_Dude, she's totally got the hots for us!'_ said Jude.

'Me_, Jude,'_ said Harry. _'She has the hots for _me_. She doesn't even know about you guys.'_

'_Don't be so sure about that,'_ warned Tom. _'She's good friends with Nico, remember? Who's to say she doesn't know Legilimency?'_

'_That's a good point,'_ Harry acknowledged, _'but not an accurate one, I don't think.'_

'_Oh really?'_ said Tom. _'What makes you think that?'_

'_People performing Legilimency give out a kind of … aura, for lack of a better word. Percy showed us during the summer, remember? He said it was so I would know if people were trying to break into my mind. I think I would be able to tell if Lou were doing it – or one of you, should that fail.'_

'_Point taken.'_

Lou pulled him into a deserted corridor.

"So …" said Harry, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I heard about what happened with Katie," said Lou. Her dark, coffee-coloured eyes stared deeply into his. "I just want you to know that if you need to talk … I'm right here."

She took a step closer to him. Harry could smell roses and rain and, for lack of a better word, magic. It smelled like Amortentia.

Harry smiled nervously. "Thanks Lou."

"No problem." She stepped even closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Part of Harry was screaming for him to step away – he barely even knew this girl, after all – but another part, a more masculine part, said that she _obviously_ liked him, he _obviously_ liked her, and besides, what was the worst that could happen? Another relationship like the one with Cho? That hadn't even been that bad.

'_Plus, you totally wanna get laid.'_

'_This is not the time, Jude!'_

Harry leaned slightly closer to her and wrapped his arms tentatively around Lou's slender waist. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips.

It wasn't like people said it was stereotypically. No fireworks exploded in his brain, no feeling of _complete and utter love_, or some similar cheesy bull, flooded his body. None of that. He wouldn't say it wasn't nice, though. Every muscle in his body relaxed, and for once, he felt completely at peace.

After what could have been a second or an eternity, he wouldn't know, they pulled away.

Lou smiled. "Bye Harry."

She walked off.

Harry stood there for a moment.

'_Dude,'_ said Jude finally, _'the fuck just happened?'_

'_I think she just kissed us,'_ said James.

'_Me, James,'_ corrected Harry. _'She kissed _me._'_

'_Yeah, yeah, whatever.'_

Having taken a moment to gather his thoughts, Harry rushed off to his next lesson.

* * *

Ron and Hermione looked at him curiously. Nico just smirked.

"Cutting it close," he murmured as Harry pulled up a chair beside him.

"Shut up you smug bastard," Harry hissed in response.

"Ooh, feisty, are we?"

"I said shut up!"

"Calm down, _Mon Chou_. I'm just teasing."

"Did you … did you just call me a cabbage?"

"Yup."

"_Pourquoi?"_

_(Why)_

"_Pourquoi pas?"_

_(Why not?)_

"_Bon point."_

_(Good point)_

"_Tous mes points sont bons."_

_(All my points are good)_

"_Faux."_

_(Untrue)_

"_Vrai."_

_(True)_

"_Non."_

_(No)_

"_Oui."_

_(Yes)_

"Fine."

"I win!"

"No, you're just more stubborn than me."

"Whatever, Potter."

Harry turned back to the front just as McGonagall walked in. Sometimes, arguing with Nico was more trouble than it was worth.

'_I heard that.'_

'_If you don't want to hear my thoughts, get out of my head.'_

'_Fine.'_

McGonagall started her lecture on Transfiguration.

"Dumbledore's back," Nico murmured.

"Can this not wait?" said Harry irritably. "I'm trying to listen to this!"

Nico rolled his eyes and jerked his head upwards, letting out an almost silent snort through his nose. "I'll just give you my notes."

"I learn by writing."

"So copy them out."

McGonagall gave them an evil eye.

Nico smiled in false apology, but Harry just ducked his head and continued his notes.

"You can tell him about your theory on Draco Malfoy," Nico continued quietly.

Harry looked at him sharply. "I never told you about that!"

Nico laid his hands palm-down and lowered them while breathing out through pursued lips in the universal 'volume down' sign. "You don't need to."

"Please don't go inside my head."

"I didn't. It's not hard to guess. You and I both know the Death Eaters are behind this somehow – there's no way the necklace was meant for Katy – and Malfoy's the best lead we have. It's not a big leap to assume you have a theory he's behind it."

"McGonagall dismissed it out of hand."

"She does that."

"I'm well aware of that!"

Nico repeated the 'quiet down' hand gesture again. "Will you tell Ol' Dumbles or not?"

"Are you actually encouraging me to go to Dumbledore with something?"

Nico looked him in the eyes and smirked malevolently. Somehow, Harry didn't think it was aimed at him. No, the look seemed to go _through_ him; to something behind him, or inside him. "I might be."

"I thought you didn't like Dumbledore."

"It's just a warning. Who knows what kind of harm could come to him if he _dared_ make a single wrong move, especially at such a precarious stage in life as this, hmm?"

What odd wording.

Harry voiced his thoughts.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm just saying that the way you worded that was slightly odd."

"I was just saying how easy it is to infiltrate a castle. Dumbledore's an old man, after all. All it would take is a little … _push_."

Nico still seemed to be looking through him, rather than at him. His eyes were icy – hypnotic, almost.

"Nico," whispered Harry, "are you … okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're acting strange."

"Just pointing out the dangers." He sat back, apparently back to normal.

Harry nodded uneasily and went back to taking notes.

* * *

Nico never liked sleeping at Hogwarts.

He didn't know why he didn't – maybe it was the four-poster beds in that garish red, or the irritatingly loud snores of the other boys, or perhaps just the degrading factor of being forced to share a room with those he viewed as inferior – but he didn't. He would stay in the Common Room for as long as possible, enjoying the fear-filled stares sent his way and revelling in the knowledge that it would take a mere few words and all of them would do whatever he said. When night fell and the Moon rose and there were few left in the dying-fire-illuminated room, he would slip out of the door like a ghost and travel to Camp. He felt much more comfortable there. Perhaps it was the feeling of having an army at his beck and call. Perhaps it was the respect that came with his position. Perhaps it was being able to be his psychopathic self and not be judged. Perhaps it was even the feeling of acceptance; a small break the constant feeling of alienation that prevailed everywhere else.

It was only six in the evening in Kansas when it was midnight in British winter. Ironically, Nico preferred the day. Well, it was more he preferred being awake, but it was more socially acceptable to be awake at six in the evening than twelve at night (or rather, it was less questionable).

"Nico," Percy acknowledged, nodding.

Nico returned the nod. Percy was very warm towards … well … basically everyone. However, around Nico … he wasn't sure if Percy's mask raised or fell. Did he not feel the need to put forth false pretences of agreeability, or did he not wish to be agreeable towards Nico in particular? Did he not care about people's problems, or did he just not want Nico to know about whose problems concerned him? Did he rid himself of a mask, or just put on a different one?

"Anything new about Hogwarts?" Percy asked.

"Remember when we realised the necklace was gone?"

For a moment, Nico thought he saw a shadow of something flicker behind Percy's eyes. Shame? Amusement? Around Percy, all seemed to blend into one, implacable, unpredictable emotion. "I do."

"Well, it found its way to England."

Percy's eyebrow's furrowed slightly. "I think we should talk somewhere more private."

Nico nodded.

They wandered through the streets of New London. Nico's highly sensitive nose could make out so many scents that made him long to never leave. The fresh-pressed grapes from the winery across the side of town, the smell of coffee from Bombilo's Coffee Shop in the village centre, the scent of fresh baked bread, and, of course, the slight whiff of sweat that drifted over from the training arena over a mile away. It was nothing like Hogwarts, which smelt stiflingly of mothballs, stale rain and rot, yet tried to mask it all with extensive magical cleaners that made it hard to breathe.

Just the thought of it made Nico need to grab his inhaler.

Percy looked at him with a vague form of concern. "All right there, bro?"

Nico nodded, taking a few deep breaths. "Just my lungs acting up."

Percy 'ah'ed understandingly. "Waterboarding does that to you."

Nico smiled grimly at the memory of … actually about two years ago now. He'd thought it'd been longer.

They had passed out of the main square by now, and had passed onto the residential area. They were large houses by near any standard: all were set quite far away from the street, with large front gardens that were immaculately cared for and surrounded by slightly mossy stone walls. Some had swing sets, others extensive flower beds. Some had just small breaks in the walls, others had long driveways. Some had gravel pathways, others paved stones. They were all so uniform, yet so individual.

Thinking about it, they embodied the New Empire in all it was.

Further on, the house became more spread out. It wasn't an abrupt change, it was more gradual. There were really just four main streets outside of the main Plaza (officially they were called The Silk Road, which stretched off to the east, Via Pythia, which went north, Route 66, which directed west, and the Camio Real, which took you to the south), but everyone lived either on that street or some immaculately-paved tributary to it. The further along any of the roads you went, the larger and grander the houses got, until you finally reached the five-bedroom houses that had a veritable ranch of grounds. Percy and Annabeth, being the rulers, lived in the largest house available.

There were very few larger houses in better areas. Ten bedrooms (of which two were occupied), four bathrooms, a large kitchen with adjoining breakfast bar area, living room, dining room, basement floor with a library (Annabeth wouldn't have it any other way) and an outdoor swimming pool complete with sauna and Jacuzzi (because if Annabeth got a library, Percy would be damned if he didn't get a swimming pool).

The grounds were extensive, with a stable where Blackjack, Arion, Tempest, and the two new editions of Use Your Illusion and November Rain (often just abbreviated to Illusion and Rain), the palomino Pegasus twins. There was a large side patio area where the family often met for dinner, and various sports facilities that extended the entire 32-acre estate.

Percy jumped up the two patio steps and up to the large oak doors, Nico standing just behind him. No-one here really bothered to lock the doors; the Hermes children were under strict instructions to steal from Topeka or another major city, and everyone who committed a crime here would be found out.

Except, it appeared, the one who stole the necklace.

Percy gently closed the door behind him to avoid waking Theo (Nico was pretty sure that the child wasn't _actually_ asleep and just used any excuse he could to get out of bed) and went down the left hand corridor, where his study was.

He sat on his large spinning chair, and gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Sit."

Nico sat. The chair was a lot more uncomfortable than the other one appeared to be. It was made of hard wood rather than padded leather.

Percy sat back and steepled his fingers. "Start from the beginning." His voice was brisk, no-nonsense. "Don't edit out anything. I don't care if you have to jump back and forth through time frames or start from the beginning. You're going to tell me everything."

Nico felt slightly nervous. Percy was never this demanding He preferred to ask first, then force. He rarely used imperatives.

Nico took a deep breath.

"Now would be good." Percy's voice, were it possible, hardened.

"I was in California –."

"Shooting for a movie, I know."

"I'm starting from the beginning!"

"Allow me to rephrase, then." Percy leaned forwards, his steepled fingers collapsing to become flatter. Nico rarely felt threatened, or dominated, but Percy was just about the only person who could honestly scare him. "Start from the _important_ beginning."

"Right. Well, after I'd met up with Lacy, you called and said you wanted to talk."

"I know." Percy had sat back in his chair again, staring domineeringly into Nico's eyes. There was an element of hostility behind them. Nico was used to the air of superiority that surrounded Percy, although he didn't like it, but he couldn't remember any recent time in which Percy had been hostile.

"You told me the necklace had gone."

"I said it in a few more words than that, but yes, I did."

"So I went to Hogwarts and told Harry that the necklace had gone."

"Did Potter tell Dumbledore?"

"Um … I don't …"

"_Now_ Nico!" Percy slammed his fist on the desk, emphasising the 'now'.

"No, I don't think he did."

"Why not?"

Nico resisted the urge to shiver as he felt cold fear flood through him. Harry may not have remembered at that point, after what Nico had told him. He didn't know if he should have, though – technically speaking, you're meant to get express permission from a superior before telling anyone, even new members, about the Planes. He couldn't say that.

"I – I think Dumbledore already knew."

"Why?"

"The necklace was taken to England -."

"You said before."

"Yes, but it was given to someone."

"Who?"

"A girl."

"What was her name?"

"Um … Katy Something."

"Katy Something." Percy smiled condescendingly. "Very helpful. There is, of course, only one Katy Something in the world."

Nico resisted the urge to shout at Percy. He couldn't. It was a violation of Camp rules, and he valued his life a bit too much to violate them so openly. Then the name came to him. "Bell! Katy Bell!"

Percy's eyes lost their hostility. "Really?"

"Yes! She's Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in her seventh year."

"How did she get the necklace?"

"I don't know. I assume she was given it."

"Yes, but by whom?"

Nico didn't answer; it obviously wasn't directed at him. Percy had broken eye contact, his eyes had drifted to the ceiling and he kept muttering to himself. He averted his gaze, trying to calm himself. He had rarely had Percy's interrogative abilities directed at him, but he thought he knew how Percy was so effective at obtaining information now.

"Emperor," he said tentatively. He wasn't sure if he should use Percy's name now – the title seemed a lot more appropriate, given the circumstances.

"What?"

"Potter has a theory."

Percy swung around and looked at him contemplatively. Nico tried to hide how nervous he was, but Percy was like a wolf: he could just _smell_ fear.

"Why should a sixteen-year-old with no training's theory matter to me?"

"I think it has validity."

"Why?"

"Maybe you'll agree, if you hear it, Sir."

Percy fixed his green eyes on Nico's dark ones. "Shoot."

"We think Draco Malfoy has something to do with it."

Percy folded his fingers in front of his mouth, but Nico could see the amusement glimmering in his eyes. That made him feel angry. Why was Percy acting like this? Why was this a laughing matter? He didn't deserve to be treated like this!

"And why do you think that?"

"We don't think the necklace was meant for Katy Bell."

"Oh obviously not. Why would anyone risk coming to such a high-security area as this, make the incredibly dangerous transfer across planes, only to give an incredibly deadly object to a comparatively defenceless seventeen-year-old girl?"

"Well, yes, that's what we thought."

"Carry on."

"Well, if it wasn't meant for K- _Bell,_ she was probably just delivering it so that the actual person wasn't caught."

"The question is, who to?"

"I think you know."

Percy did. There was only one target in the castle worth going to such extensive lengths to try and kill. "How does this connect to Malfoy?"

Nico felt something incredibly similar to hatred for the situation he was currently in. Percy had already made the connection, Nico knew. He had made it ages ago. Probably made the same conclusion while he was muttering to himself, or even while Nico was first talking. But instead of agreeing to look into it, he was here, humiliating Nico, belittling him, making him feel inferior. Nico hated being inferior.

"Well, there are only two factions who want Dumbledore dead -."

"Untrue. There are many more. There are just two with the purpose _and_ the means."

"Yes, well, there are only two factions who want Dumbledore dead and have the means to do so: us and the Death Eaters. If we wanted Dumbledore dead, we wouldn't drag it out like that, or make it so prone to failure. We'd probably just go right in and get it done with."

"No, Nico. We wouldn't."

"We wouldn't?"

"Nope."

"But, what would ….?"

"We'd drag it out," said Percy, smiling malevolently. "We'd drag him down from his pedestal and drag his name through the mud to ensure he couldn't be used as a martyr."

Nico should have thought of that. "Well, yes, I suppose."

Percy nodded and gestured for him to carry on.

"The point is, we wouldn't carry out that plan, unless we were trying to frame someone …" Nico paused for a moment, considering, but decided to leave it for now. Percy didn't seem to be in a mood to humour his theories. "So it would have to be the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters have a couple of spies within Hogwarts, but knowing Tom Riddle, he wants to get back at Lucius for messing up in the Department of Mysteries last year, so he probably gave Draco the task of killing Dumbledore. If he fails, Riddle can have him killed and replaced, and if he succeeds then good for the Death Eaters."

Percy nodded. "Very good."

"So … are we right?"

"You might be. I need to look into it more, but it sounds good."

"You'd already thought of it, hadn't you?"

Percy smiled unabashedly. "And several others."

"What are they?"

"Things that need work."

Nico recognised a dismissal when he saw when. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

Nico sat, uncomfortably fidgeting in his chair for a few seconds.

Percy got up and started pacing slowly, his long legs moving in semicircles before crossing over each other. "You've gotten too attached."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, you're not."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You've gotten too attached to Hogwarts. To Potter."

"I have not!"

"Then why was he _Harry_ until I corrected you?"

"Force of habit."

"We both know that's not true."

"I- I don't …"

Percy turned around and looked Nico in the eye. His gaze wasn't as hard as Nico thought it would be. It was warm, welcoming. "It's not you getting attached to Harry I'm worried about."

"Oh. Then what …?"

"Weasley."

"I'm not attached to Weasley at all!"

"So you say. But that's not true."

"I'm not!"

Percy held up a hand. "This is not up for debate. You simply _cannot_ form any kind of attachment to Weasley, or Granger."

"I haven't!"

"Not yet. But you will."

"I won't," Nico said, clenching his jaw defiantly.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do!"

Percy sat down in front of him again. "Nico. I know you. I know your personality. I know your strengths; I know your flaws. I know you're desperate for attention in any form and don't like feeling alienated, even though that's _all_ you've ever felt, even here. I know that as soon as Granger or Weasley make a move to accept you, you'll fall right into it."

"I won't," Nico promised. "I won't let myself."

"You'd better not," said Percy, the hint of threat inching its way into his voice.

"Should I go _now_?"

Nico was well aware his tone could be considered disrespectful, but at that moment, he didn't care.

"No. I have one more thing to discuss with you."

"What is it?"

"Watch your tone," Percy warned.

Nico nodded tightly.

Percy sat back, steeping his fingers again. "In answer to your question, it's how you plan to continue."

Nico frowned. "I thought we had a plan on that. Get Harry away from –."

"No, not that," Percy interrupted, moving slightly from side to side in his chair with his feet on the desk. "Of course we're keeping with that plan. I spent an entire summer setting the foundations for that, and even longer planning it. I've had to give up one of my best minds and most trusted family members for nearly a year for this. I'm not giving up on it."

Nico felt warmth flood his chest at Percy's words.

"However, that plan is only vague. I need to know how you're proceeding, _exactly_. I want to be able to plan the variables and account for them. That way, if something goes wrong, I can get you out easily."

"I can get out fine."

Percy looked over at him, momentarily stopping his spinning. "You're my primary concern in this, Nick. You're too valuable, and quite frankly, I'm too fond of you to let that happen."

Nico wasn't sure how he felt. Just a few moments, Percy had been ridiculing him, making him feel stupid. Now, he was calling him one of the best minds at Camp.

It was something he himself did a lot, Nico realised. Made people feel inferior, just because you could, and then make them feel valuable again so that they would still hang around you.

On the receiving end, it wasn't particularly nice, but Nico enjoyed messing with people's heads too much to stop.

He thought on Percy's question for a moment. How would he proceed? At the moment, he'd just been trying to settle in, maybe try and get Weasley and Granger out purely by exploiting their differences. It wasn't working as well as he was hoping, but he figured maybe time would make it work.

"I can't make it too obvious what I'm doing," was all he said. "If I do, Harry will reject it and we'll be back to negative square one."

Percy nodded. "Obviously."

"So I'm just trying to see if merely exploiting their differences would make them fall apart with time."

"It's not a bad plan, don't get me wrong. The only problem is that we don't _have_ time. We have a few months now at most, and the three don't seem to be much further apart than they were in September."

"Oh they're further apart, there's no question."

"Just not far apart enough," Percy finished. "I know."

Nico nodded.

"The question," Percy continued, "is: how do we speed up the process without blowing your cover?"

Nico bit his lip in thought.

"Think," Percy said, and Nico realised Percy had already thought of something. "What does every human, from a three-second-old baby to a one-hundred-year-old on their deathbed, want?"

"A mother?"

"Bit more of a stretch."

"… Love."

"To _feel_ loved," Percy corrected. "Ideally love, yes, but the mere illusion of love can often be enough."

"How can we use that?"

"When you're a teenager, how does that need of love come out?"

Nico didn't know from personal experience (he was hardly a typical teenager) but it had become remarkable clear if you just watched what other, more normal teenagers were doing.

"A girlfriend or boyfriend."

Percy nodded.

"And …?"

"Who seems to be the neediest person in that group?"

Nico gave it some thought. Ron was the most desperate for attention, but he had several siblings, and Lavender Brown to provide romantic attraction. Harry was the most love deprived, but he had more of a want for friendship than a relationship, and he and H- Lou had the romance side covered. Quite effectively, it seemed. That left Hermione.

Poor ignored Hermione. Always the unappreciated one, the Muggleborn in a world of magic – the fifth wheel, so to speak. Never had anyone but Viktor Krum find her attractive, a deathly low self-esteem (that Nico admittedly wasn't helping), and romantic feelings for Ron Weasley that he refused to acknowledge. Hermione was by far the weakest, although Nico would admit she put on a very good façade of being strong.

"Hermione Granger."

Percy splayed his hands in a 'there you have it' motion.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Nico said, although it wasn't true.

"You do."

"What about Lacy?"

"What about her?"

"Wouldn't she be a little … upset about this?"

"I have never recalled a time in which your relationship with Lacy prevented you from doing anything."

Nico winced and conceded the point. Despite what they told everyone, Nico and Lacy's relationship was turbulent at best. Lying, cheating, constant fighting and breaking up … it was one of those relationship that you were warned about in high school talks, by your parents, by your friends, by everyone. But Nico had never been one to play by the rules and, deep down, neither was Lacy. That was why Nico found her so fascinating; for someone as cold-blooded as Lacy, she sure had a good façade of normality. Better than his, at any rate. That being said, Nico could never resist a brag, and what gave him more bragging rights than coming from an abusive household that had left him with two personality disorders and becoming an A-list actor with three Oscars, a winning sports personality with two golds and a bronze from the Olympics, and a millionaire who had donated thousands to charities across the world?

"Have you spoken to her about it at least?"

"May I ask where these sudden feelings of loyalty have come from?" Percy sounded deeply amused.

"Just curious."

"You just don't want to act like you're interested in Granger." It wasn't a question.

"True, but Lacy and I haven't had a fight in several months now and I don't …"

"Don't want to jeopardise it," Percy finished. "I get it. I'm just saying, it might -."

"No, it's okay, I'll do it," Nico said hastily. "It's just … Granger?"

"Objections?"

"I mean … she's not really my type, is all."

"What is your type then?" Percy said, raising an eyebrow. Nico wasn't sure if he was referring to all the people Nico had been with in the past, or his confession to Percy when he was twelve. Probably both. "Easy to get, easy to fuck, easy to throw away?"

Nico shrugged. "Not Lacy."

"No," Percy agreed. "I daresay that's why you're still together."

"Undoubtedly. On my part, at least."

"What a charmer."

"That's me."

"Okay, so we have the outline of a plan," Percy said, all business again. "Can we iron out a few details?"

Nico nodded, and they stayed up until late figuring things out.

* * *

**I'm gonna do a time backtrack here to Harry and Dumbledore's lesson, kay?**

***Extracts from HPB and the sole property of J.K. Rowling and her certified publishers.***

* * *

*Harry had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented himself outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter. There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as ever, but he smiled when he gestured to Harry to sit down. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.

"You have had a busy time while I have been away," Dumbledore said. "I believe you witnessed Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir. How is she?"

"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin; there was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse.

"Why him?" asked Harry quickly. "Why not Madam Pomfrey?"

"Impertinent," said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore quellingly. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time."*

"That's good," said Harry. After a moment, he said, "Sir, I have a ... theory, I suppose, on the cause of Katie's accident."

"Ah yes, Professor McGonagall has told me. Draco Malfoy, I believe it was?"

"That is my general idea, Sir."

"Rest assured, Harry, that I shall take appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident."

Harry nodded.

'_Just like you investigated the troll issue, I'm sure,'_ snorted Tom. _'And the chamber issue. And the Black issue. And the Voldemort issue. And the –.'_

'_We get it, Tom,'_ said James wearily. _'He's not going to investigate at all. Now shut up.'_

Harry, however, was on a different track to the voices. He was thinking about what Nico had said.

_Who knows what kind of harm could come to him if he _dared_ make a single wrong move_.

Could not investigating the necklace be the wrong move?

Harry resisted the urge to shiver, remembering Nico's scarily vacant yet sharp eyes.

Dumbledore was staring intently into Harry's eyes, he noted with a stab of shock. The older man had paled slightly.

"Regardless of the necklace, Harry," Dumbledore continued, seemingly shaking himself of whatever had shocked him, "what concerns me now, is our lesson."

*Harry felt slightly resentful at this: If their lessons were so very important, why had there been such a long gap between the first and second? However, he said no more about Draco Malfoy, but watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.

"You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?"

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore, "who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing."*

**The rest can be found in chapter thirteen of HBP if you really want to look at it.**

"I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry, the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behaviour, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.

"Now, just as a little bit of trivia, Harry, do you know what personality disorder Tom Riddle suffers from?"

"No sir."

"It's referred to as _Antisocial Personality Disorder_. It causes the person who has it to lack empathy, remorse, have a grandiose sense of self-worth, exhibit manipulative behaviour, and they generally have a history of juvenile delinquency. Does this remind you of anyone you know?"

Harry shook his head, but he knew what Dumbledore was referring to. He was trying to warn him about Nico. It was obvious.

Harry wasn't sure about how he felt at the moment. He supposed it was common for teenagers, but he was going to be cliché and say that no-one understood his problems. Nico and his family hadn't been anything but nice and accepting – Percy and Jason had gotten in contact several times so far this year to help him with homework and any general problems – but he's seen how cunning Nico especially could be when he had stayed up late at night planning Quidditch plays. Was it an elaborate plan?

Did Nico lack empathy or remorse?

He didn't know, but Harry didn't think he'd ever heard Nico say a heartfelt 'sorry'.

Grandiose sense of self-worth?

Nico was definitely arrogant, but that might be going a bit far.

Manipulative behaviour?

Harry didn't know.

A history of juvenile delinquency?

Harry had heard many stories about Nico's various illegal goings-on, and he would be surprised if he had half of the actual list.

Jeez, Nico wasn't checking out very well.

"I would advise you to be careful, Harry," said Dumbledore, "but I'm sure you already know that."

"I do, sir."

"It really is time for bed now, Harry."

*Harry got to his feet. As he walked across the room, his eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time, but the ring was no longer there.

"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore, for Harry had come to a halt.

"The ring's gone," said Harry, looking around. "But I thought I you might have the mouth organ or something."

Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"Very astute, Harry, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ." *

And on that enigmatic note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.*

* * *

******* When I first read HBP, I was really confused about this line, so I thought I'd explain it for those like me that didn't quite understand**

**In Dumbledore's memory, Tom Riddle collects a lot of belongings from people he has bullied in the past, and among these was a mouth organ (this is much more obvious if you look over the passage). When Harry commented about that, he was asking if Dumbledore had collected any more of Tom Riddle's old things, i.e. the mouth organ. Dumbledore denies this, saying that the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ (in other words, he ruled out the mouth organ as a Horcrux.)**

**~ Evil Mockingbird**


	14. So This is Awkward

**Hi guys. Me again. Bet your sick of these A/Ns, huh?**

**I have some bad news to share with you (or good, depending on who you are), but I'm quitting FanFiction.**

**If you've enjoyed my stories, I'm sorry. But I have ****_way_**** too much shit to deal with. In a previous A/N I mentioned the custody battle over my sister and I between my mum and dad ... Dad won (as I expected) and we've both moved in full time.**

**Then came the bombshell: my mum committed suicide yesterday.**

**I've been expecting it, to be completely honest. It wasn't much of a shock, but ****_fuck_**** does it hurt. We had a pretty rocky relationship, yes, but I still love(d) her, and it's taking a while to sink in.**

**My dad is seeing about getting me a therapist (this is just the latest of several incidents in my life recently) and I just can't find the energy to do any of this any more.**

**I'm probably not quitting permanently, but don't expect to see any updates recently. I'm probably going to rewrite this story when I have the drive, and I'll post again when/if the rewritten gets posted.**

**Thanks all,**

**~ Em.**


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